Knjraved  expressly  f6i-I>colkctions  of  4  Busy  i.ile"  J.B.FordSc  C9  Riilishers.  N  T. 


KECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE 


BY 


HORACE  GREELEY 


NEW    YORK 
J.    B.    FORD    AND    COMPANY 

PRINTING-HOUSE   SQUARE 
1868 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
HORACE     GREELEY, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE, 


EECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE: 


INCLUDING 

EEMINISCENCES   OF  AMERICAN  POLITICS 
AND    POLITICIANS, 

FROM  THE  OPENING  OF  THE   MISSOURI   CONTEST  TO  THE 
DOWNFALL    OF   SLAVERY; 

TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED 

MISCELLANIES: 

"LITERATURE  AS  A  VOCATION,"   "POETS  AND  POETRY,"   "REFORMS   AND 
REFORMERS,"   A  DEFENCE  OF  PROTECTION,  ETC.,  ETC. 

ALSO, 

A  DISCUSSION  WITH  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN  OF 
THE   LAW  OF  DIVORCE. 


BY  HOEACE  GKEELEY. 


NEW    YORK 
J.    B.    FORD    AND    COMPANY 

PRINTING-HOUSE  SQUARE 
1868 


TO 

OUR    AMERICAN    BOYS, 

WHO, 

BORN   IN    POVERTY,    CRADLED   IN   OBSCURITY,    AND   EARLY   CALLED 
FROM   SCHOOL   TO    RUGGED   LABOR, 

ARE  SEEKING 

TO   CONVERT   OBSTACLE   INTO   OPPORTUNITY,    AND    WREST 
ACHIEVEMENT    FROM    DIFFICULTY, 

2Tl)ese  Recollections 

ARE     REGARDFULLY     INSCRIBED    BY 

THEIR   AUTHOR. 


PUBLISHERS'    CIRCULAR. 


THE  book  herewith  presented  to  the  public  is  a  collection 
of  the  series  of  articles  originally  published  by  MR. 
GREELEY  in  the  New  York  Ledger,  bearing,  as  now,  the  ac 
curately  descriptive  title,  "  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE." 
Revised,  and  in  part  rewritten,  by  the  author,  and  enriched 
by  the  addition  of  much  original  matter,  it  is  believed  that 
these  autobiographical  reminiscences  will  be,  not  only  enter 
taining  and  attractive  to  the  casual  reader,  but  of  perma 
nent  value  to  all  students  of  the  times  we  live  in.  They 
form  a  record  of  the  inner  life  and  inspiration  of  one  who 
has  actively  shared  in  the  many  strange  intellectual  and 
political  phases  through  which  America  has  gone  during 
the  past  thirty  years  of  intense  vitality.  MR.  GREELEY 
himself  gives  the  best  indication  of  their  nature :  "I  shall 
never  write  anything  else  into  which  I  shall  put  so  much  of 
myself,  my  experiences,  notions,  convictions,  and  modes  of 
thought,  as  these  Recollections.  I  give,  with  small  reserve, 
my  mental  history." 

Whatever  view  may  be  taken  of  HORACE  GREELEY' s  opin 
ions  and  teachings,  all  will  concede  that  he  has  been,  and 
is,  a  man  of  untiring  industry,  of  strong  convictions,  of  con 
tinual  and  immense  intellectual  activity,  and  of  wide-spread 
influence.  Laboring  in  the  metropolis  of  the  country,  he 
has  there  planted  and  nurtured  with  his  own  life  a  journal 
whose  political  and  social  ideas  have  been  powerful  in 


Viii  PUBLISHERS'    CIRCULAR.  ' 

affecting  the  public  mind  beyond  any  other  one  agency ; 
and  he  himself,  intimately  associated  as  he  has  been  with 
all  the  great  men  and  great  events  of  the  time,  is  a  singu 
larly  interesting  character.  The  mental  history  of  such  a 
man,  and  the  varied  reminiscences  of  his  life  and  experi 
ence,  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  attention  and  excite  the 
interest  of  all  who  take  any  pains  to  understand  the  history 
of  the  day  ;  while  the  practical  hints  to  young  men,  and 
the  familiar  chat  about  political,  literary,  agricultural,  so 
cial,  and  personal  topics  contained  in  the  book,  must  make 
it  welcome  to  the  general  reader. 

Of  the  illustrations,  the  views  of  MR.  GREELEY'S  various 
homes,  &c.,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that  they  have  been 
engraved  from  the  most  authentic  sources,  —  generally  pho 
tographs.  The  fine  portrait  of  Mr.  GREELEY  is  engraved  on 
steel  by  MR.  J.  ROGERS,  and  that  of  the  accomplished  and 
lamented  MARGARET  FULLER  is  from  the  artistic  hand  of 
MR.  W.  J.  LINTON,  whose  personal  remembrance  of  that 
gifted  lady  has  been  aided  by  an  excellent  portrait.  In 
every  way,  the  publishers  have  endeavored  to  make  the 
book  one  attainable  and  desirable  by  all,  and  feel  sure  that 
it  will  prove  its  own  best  commendation. 


APOLOGY. 


r  I  ^HESE  Eecollections  owe  their  existence  wholly  to  an 
-•-  impulse  external  to  their  author,  who,  of  his  own 
choice,  writes  on  many  topics,  himself  not  included.  When, 
years  ago,  he  was  introduced  to  Mr.  James  Parton,  and  ap 
prised  that  he  had  been  chosen,  by  that  gentleman,  as  the 
subject  of  a  biographic  volume,  he  said  that  every  person 
whose  career  was  in  some  sense  public  was  a  fair  subject 
for  public  comment  and  criticism,  but  that  he  could  not 
furnish  materials  for,  nor  in  any  wise  make  himself  a  party 
to,  the  undertaking.  As  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that 
he  should  have  time  and  inclination  to  write  concerning 

o 

himself,  he  had  never  saved  even  a  scrap  with  reference  to 
such  contingency;  and  he  has  chosen  not  to  avail  himself 
of  Mr.  Partoii's  labors,  in  order  that  the  following  chapters 
should,  so  far  as  possible,  justify  their  title  of  Eecollections. 

Mr.  Eobert  Bonner  is  justly  entitled  to  the  credit  (or  other 
wise)  of  having  called  these  Eecollections  into  tangible  (even 
though  fleeting)  existence.  He  had  previously  invited  me 
to  write  for  his  Ledger,  and  had  paid  me  liberally  for  so 
doing;  but  our  engagement  and  intimacy  had  long  ceased,' 
when,  on  the  occasion  of  the  hubbub  incited  by  my  bailing 
of  Jefferson  Davis,  he  reopened  a  long-suspended  corre 
spondence,  and  once  more  urged  me  to  write  for  his  columns ; 
suggesting  a  series  of  autobiographic  reminiscences,  which 


X  .  APOLOGY. 

I  at  first  flatly  declined  to  furnish.  On  mature  reflection, 
however,  I  perceived  that  he  had  proffered  me  opportunity 
to  commend  to  many  thousands,  of  mainly  young  persons, 
convictions  which  are  a  part  of  my  being,  and  conceptions 
of  public  events  and  interests  which  might  never  so  fairly 
invoke  their  attention  if  I  repelled  this  opportunity;  and 
that,  therefore,  I  ought  not  to  reject  it.  Hence,  I  soon  re 
called  my  hasty  negative,  apprised  him  that  I  would  accept 
his  offer,  and  immediately  commenced  writing,  as  I  could 
snatch  time  from  other  pressing  duties,  the  Recollections 
herewith  printed.  That  they  are  less  personal  and  more 
political  than  Mr.  Bonner  would  have  wished  them,  I  was 
early  aware ;  yet  he  allowed  all  but  two  of  them  to  appear, 
and  to  have  the  post  of  honor  in  successive  issues  of  his 
excellent  and  widely  circulated  periodical.  I  have  added 
somewhat,  however,  to  nearly  half  of  them,  in  revising  them 
for  publication  in  this  shape ;  but  the  reader  who  may  note 
the  discrepancy  will  be  so  just  as  to  attribute  it  to  the 
proper  source.  In  a  single  instance  only,  was  I  requested 
by  Mr.  Bonner  to  change  an  expression  in  one  of  the  num 
bers  he  published  ;  and  therein  he  was  clearly  right,  as  I 
instantly  conceded. 

The  papers  which  I  have  chosen  to  add  to  my  Recollec 
tions,   in   giving   them   this   permanent   form,   embody   my 
|   views  on  certain  topics  which  I  was  not  able  to  present 
so  fully  in  my  contributions  to  The  Ledger,  yet  which   I 
hoped  would  reward  the  attention  of  most  readers.     That  in 
m  which  Protection  is  explained  and  commended  was  printed 
as  it  was   hurriedly  written   more   than   twenty-five   years 
ago ;  I  present  it  now,  without  the  change  of  a  sentence, 
,     as  a  statement  of  views  contemptuously  rejected  by  most 
writers  on  Political  Economy  in  our  day,  who  never  really 


APOLOGY.  xi 

gave  them  consideration  or  thought.  That  they  deserve  a 
different  and  more  respectful  treatment,  I  profoundly  be 
lieve  :  the  public  must  judge  between  me  and  their  con- 
temners. 

I  hope  to  be  spared  to  write  hereafter  a  fuller  and  more 
systematic  exposition  of  Political  Economy  from  the  Protec 
tionist  stand-point ;  and  I  do  not  expect  henceforth  to  write 
or  print  any  other  work  whatever.  If,  then,  my  friends  will 
accept  the  essays  which  conclude  this  volume  as  a  part  of 
my  mental  biography,  I  respectfully  proffer  this  book  as  my 
account  of  all  of  myself  that  is  worth  their  consideration; 
and  I  will  cherish  the  hope  that  some  portion,  at  least,  of 
its  contents  embody  lessons  of  persistency  and  patience 
which  will  not  have  been  set  forth  in  vain. 

The  controversy  with  Mr.  Eobert  Dale  Owen  respecting 
Marriage  and  Divorce,  which  is  printed  at  the  end  of  the 
volume,  was  wholly  unpremeditated  on  my  part,  yet  I  had 
so  clearly,  though  unintentionally,  provoked  Mr.  Owen's  first 
letter,  that  I  could  not  refuse  to  print  it ;  and  I  could  not 
suffer  it  to  appear  without  a  reply.  My  strictures  incited  a 
response;  and  so  the  discussion  ran  on,  till  each  had  said 
what  seemed  to  him  pertinent  on  a  subject  of  wide  and  en 
during  interest.  Before  my  last  letter  was  printed,  Mr. 
Owen,  presuming  that  I  had  closed,  had  prepared  those  al 
ready  in  print  for  issue  in  a  pamphlet,  which  accordingly 
appeared.  The  whole  first  appear  together  in  this  volume; 
and  I  trust  it  will  be  found  that  their  interest  has  not  ex 
haled  during  the  eight  years  that  have  elapsed  since  they 
were  written. 

H.  a. 

NEW  YORK,  September  1,  1868. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
I.    A  SAMPLE  OF  THE  SCOTCH-IRISH  .       .       .       .       .       .       .17 

II.  OUR  FOLKS  AT  LONDONDERRY   .        .       .       ...  .          23 

"  THE  TIMES  THAT  TRIED  MEN'S  SOULS  "     .        ....  .      29 

IV.  RURAL  NEW  ENGLAND  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO        .        .        .  .    '     34 

V.  MY  EARLY  SCHOOL-DAYS        .        .        .-'.-.•      .        .  .      41 

VI.  ADIEU  TO  NEW  HAMPSHIRE       .   •    .    •    .        .        .        .  .          48 

VTI.  WESTHAVEN              .       .       ...        .       .       .        .  .54 

VIII.  MY  APPRENTICESHIP   .        .       .       .       .       .       ...  61 

MY  FAITH         ......       .        .     '  .        .  .      68 

X.  A  YEAR  BY  LAKE  ERIE      .        ....        .        .  .          75 

XL  MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  NEW  YORK        .       .        .        .  .83 

XII.  GETTING  INTO  BUSINESS .  .          91 

XIII.  TEMPERANCE  IN  ALL  THINGS '   .  .98 

XIV.  POLITICS        ........       .       .  .  106 

XV.  PLAY-DAYS        .       '•'  &•       •       • 114 

XVI.    TRIUMPH       ..'.-.       ...       .       .       .       .        .  122 

XVII.    LOG-CABIN  DAYS      .       .       . 129 

XVIII.    THE  TRIBUNE       . 136 

SOCIALISM         .       .       .       .       .       .  .       .        .        .144 

SOCIALISTIC  EFFORTS  .       .       . 151 

XXI.    HARRY  CLAY 159 

XXII.    MARGARET  FULLER      .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  169 

XXIH.    BEGGARS  AND  BORROWERS                                                             ,  192 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

XXIV.  DRAMATIC  MEMORIES       .       .       .'      .       ,  .     ...  200 

XXV.  "  OLD  ZACK  " 207 

XXVI.  CONGRESS.  — MILEAGE       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .     .  216 

XXVII.  CONGRESS  AS  IT  WAS 225 

XXVIII.  GLAMOUR 234 

XXIX.  LAKE  SUPERIOR.  —  MINING.  —  CHICAGO.  —  THE  PRAIRIES       .  242 

XXX.  THE  GREAT  SENATORS.  —  THE  COMPROMISE  OF  1850  .        .  250 

XXXI.  LIBELS  AND  LIBEL-SUITS 260 

XXXII.  EUROPE.  — THE  WORLD'S  EXPOSITION    .        .        .-.'•.  268 

XXXIII.  THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  WHIG  PARTY 276 

XXXIV.  THE  SLAVERY  CONTROVERSY  .        .    / ...      .       ...        .  281 

XXXV.  THE  NEW  ERA  IN  POLITICS         .       .       .       .       .       .  •      .  289 

XXXVI.  MY  FARM    ......        .        .        .        .        .  295 

XXXVII.  MY  FARMING          ...        .        .        .        .        .        .'       .302 

XXXVIII.  "  SEWARD,  WEED,  AND  GREELEY  " 311 

XXXIX.  EUROPE  EEVISITED.  —  PARIS.  —  SWITZERLAND  .        ...       .  323 

XL.  Two  DAYS  IN  JAIL  .       ...       ...       .       .  332 

XLI.  "  THE  BANKS  CONGRESS."  —  THE  LONG  CONTEST  FOR  SPEAKER  345 

XLII.  FREMONT.  —  BUCHANAN.  —  DOUGLAS       .       .       .       .       .  353 

XLIII.  A  ElDE  ACROSS  THE   PLAINS          .           .           ...           .           .           .  360 

XLIV.  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  —  THE  GREAT  BASIN     ...  368 

XLV.  UTAH.  — NEVADA  .        .        .       .       .....       i       .       .374 

XL VI.  THE  SIERRA  NEVADA.  — THE  YOSEMITE.  — THE  BIG  TREES  379 

XL VII.  THE  FUTURE  OF  CALIFORNIA       .        .        .'.,..        .  384 

XLVIII.  THE  PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION  OF  1860  .        .        .        .        .  389 

XLIX.  SECESSION, —  How  CONFRONTED          .        .        .        .        .        .  396 

L.  OUR  CIVIL  WAR,  —  ACTUAL  AND  POSSIBLE    .       .       .       .  400 

LI.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN       .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  404 

LII.  JEFFERSON  DAVIS 410 

LIII.  AUTHORSHIP.  — WRITING  HISTORY      .       .       .               .  -     .  417 

LIV.  MY  DEAD    .                .        .        .        .        .        .        .  . .   „        .  425 


CONTENTS.  xv 

MISCELLANIES. 

LITERATURE  AS  A  VOCATION 433 

POETS  AND  POETRY 460 

REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS 497 

HE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION 628 

SUNDRY  LECTURING  REMINISCENCES. 

A  DAY'S  RIDE  IN  MAINE  • 654 

A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  ALLEGHANIES 557 

A   NlGHT-RlDE  ACROSS  THE   PRAIRIES 560 

A  WINTER  FLOOD  IN  ILLINOIS 566 

MARRIAGE   AND  DIVORCE  :  A  DISCUSSION  BETWEEN  HORACE  GREELEYV 
AND  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN      .       . 


ANALYTICAL  INDEX 619 


c^e^  S   <^<^-~r 
i^^c 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 


I. 

A    SAMPLE    OF    THE    SCOTCH-IRISH. 

T  TESTER, —  the  most  northern  of  the  four  provinces  into 
\~J  which  Ireland  is  pretty  equally  divided,  —  being  sepa 
rated  but  by  a  strait  from  the  western  coast  of  Scotland,  was 
doubtless  the  recipient  of  emigration  thence  from  time  imme 
morial  ;  but,  after  the  suppression,  by  Queen  Elizabeth,  of  a 
bloody  insurrection  of  the  Celts  under  Hugh  O'Neil  against 
English  domination,  a  large  area  of  the  soil  previously  held 
by  the  insurgents  was  confiscated ;  and  "  The  Plantation  of 
Ulster,"  with  some  English,  but  more  Scotch  emigrants,  was 
effected  under  James  I.  More  Celtic  insurrections  naturally 
followed  ;  that  of  1641  being  marked  as  especially  murderous  ; 
40,000  of  the  Protestant  settlers  in  Ulster  having  been  speed 
ily  massacred,  with  small  regard  to  age  or  sex.  Eight  years 
later,  Cromwell,  heading  his  terrible  "  Ironsides,"  swept  resist- 
lessly  over  Ulster  not  only,  but  all  Ireland,  crushing  out  her 
resistance,  and  leaving  in  his  track  but  blood,  ashes,  and 
ruins ;  actually  subjugating  the  entire  island,  for  the  first 
time,  to  British  power,  and  confiscating  four  fifths  of  its  soil. 
Forty  years  of  such  peace  as  subjugation  can  make  was 
suddenly  broken  by  the  expulsion  of  James  II.  from  the 
throne  of  England,  mainly  because  of  his  Romanism,  while 
Papal  Ireland  still  clung  to  his  falling  throne,  and  resisted  the 
accession  of  Dutch  William  and  his  wife  Mary,  daughter  of 
James.  Ulster,  in  so  far  as  she  was  Scotch-English  and 
Protestant,  hailed  with  rapture  the  new  rule ;  while  Catholic 
Ireland  clung  to  James ;  who,  having  fled  to  France,  landed 

2 


18  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

thence  at  Kinsale,  and  was  received  with  open  arms.  The 
Protestants  of  Ulster,  unaccountably  left  to  themselves,  had 
already  been  nearly  overrun  by  the  French  and  Irish  soldiers 
of  James,  who  was  eager  to  pass  over  to  Scotland  and  recruit 
his  forces  from  the  Highlanders  of  that  kingdom,  who  were 
already  enrolled,  under  the  banners  of  Grahame  of  Claverhouse, 
and  eagerly  awaiting  their  monarch's  appearance.  London 
derry  (originally  Berry,  but  re-named  on  being  re-peopled,  as 
above  recited,  under  the  patronage  of  a  London  company)  for 
months  stood  up  almost  alone  against  the  overwhelming  forces 
of  James,  ably  led  by  Eichard  Hamilton,  and  finally  by  Con 
rad  de  Eosen.  A  poorly  walled  town  of  perhaps  a  thousand 
houses,  garrisoned  by  a  few  drilled  soldiers,  and  three  or  four 
thousand  armed  citizens,  partly  fugitives  driven  in  from  the 
surrounding  country,  who,  wretchedly  armed,  and  most  scantily 
provided  with  ammunition,  commanded  for  weeks  by  a  traitor 
(Colonel  Lundy),  who  did  all  he  dared  to  betray  them  to  their 
enemies,  nevertheless  defied  the  most  desperate  efforts  of  their 
besiegers,  with  the  still  more  terrible  assaults  of  famine ;  and 
even  their  cowardly  desertion  by  General  Kirke,  who  was 
sent  from  England  to  relieve  them  with  5,000  men  and  a 
supply  of  provisions,  but  who  recoiled  with  all  his  fleet  with 
out  even  seriously  attempting  to  succor  the  famishing,  heroic 
city.  Yet  the  sorely  disappointed  and  distressed  Protestants, 
so  far  from  despairing,  resolved,  five  days  afterward,  that  no 
man,  on  penalty  of  death,  should  propose  a  surrender,  and 
fought  on,  eating  horses,  dogs,  cats,  rats,  salted  hides  and 
tallow,  while  scores  died  of  absolute  starvation,  until  not  two 
days'  subsistence  remained,  or  only  nine  lean  horses  in  all, 
and  one  pint  of  meal  per  man,  when,  on  the  28th  of  July, 
1690,  a  frigate  and  two  transports  ran  up  the  Foyle  past  the 
enemy's  batteries,  and,  sadly  peppered  and  cut  up,  anchored 
at  the  quay,  —  the  transports  laden  with  provisions. 

Of  7,500  men  enrolled  for  the  defence  at  the  outset,  but  4,300 
survived  ;  and  one  fourth  of  these  were  disabled.  That  night 
James's  army  raised  the  siege,  in  which  they  had  lost  more 
than  8,000  men ;  and  the  signal  defeat  of  their  monarch  by 


A  SAMPLE   OF  THE  SCOTCH-IRISH.  19 

his  son-in-law  in  the  battle  of  the  Boyne,  a  few  days  before, 
was  speedily  followed  by  the  utter  overthrow  and  expulsion 
of  the  former.  Londonderry  had  saved  the  kingdom,  and 
enabled  William  to  fight  the  decisive  battle  under  auspices 
far  more  favorable  than  if  James  had  been  allowed  to  cross 
into  Scotland,  and  add  the  Highland  clans  and  their  great 
leader  to  the  army  wherewith  he  struggled  for  his  crown. 

A  quarter  of  a  century  had  elapsed.  William  and  Mary 
were  dead ;  so  was  their  sister  and  successor,  Anne ;  George  I. 
had  been  called  from  Hanover  to  the  throne ;  when  a  new 
migration  was  meditated  and  resolved  on  by  a  goodly  company 
of  the  "  Scotch-Irish "  of  Londonderry  and  its  neighborhood. 
They  were  rigid  Presbyterians,  of  the '  school  of  Knox ;  the 
faith  and  observances  of  their  Celtic  neighbors  were  exceed 
ingly  repugnant  to  them,  and  those  of  the  Protestant  Epis 
copal  Church  by  law  established,  little  less  so.  Acts  of  Uni 
formity  and  other  prelatical  devices  bore  hardly  upon  them ; 
they  resolved  to  seek  homes  where  they  would  enjoy  absolute 
religious  freedom.  Sending  out  to  New  England  a  young 
Mr.  Holmes  to  examine  and  inquire,  they  were  incited  by  his 
report  to  take  the  decisive  step ;  and  a  considerable  portion 
of  four  Presbyterian  societies  (one  of  them  that  of  Holmes's 
father),  resolved  to  cross  the  Atlantic.  Early  in  1718  they  de 
spatched  Rev.  William  Boyd  with  an  address  to  Governor  Shute, 
of  Massachusetts,  signed  by  217  of  their  number,  of  whom 
210  attached  their  names  in  fair,  legible  chirography ;  nine  of 
them  being  clergymen.  The  Governor's  response  was  such  that 
the  colony,  on  receiving  it,  took  passage  on  five  small  vessels, 
landing  at  Boston,  August  4, 1718.  Months  were  now  wasted 
in  seeking,  in  different  lands,  a  location, — the  ensuing  Winter 
being  passed  with  great  privation  and  suffering  by  twenty  fami 
lies  of  these  explorers,  near  Falmouth,  now  Portland,  Maine, 
where  they  were  saved  from  starving  by  a  donation  of  one 
hundred  bushels  of  Indian  meal  from  the  Massachusetts  Gen 
eral  Court. 

But  Spring  at  length  opened.  The  colonists,  returning  from 
Casco  Bay,  dissatisfied  with  their  experience  in  that  quarter, 


20  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

entered  the  mouth  of  the  Merrimac,  and  ascended  it  to  Haver- 
hill;  where  they  heard  of  an  inviting  tract  of  wilderness, 
known  as  Nutfield,  from  the  abundance  of  its  indigenous 
chestnut,  butternut,  and  hickory  trees.  Leaving  their  families 
at  Haverhill,  the  men  visited  this  tract,  some  fifteen  miles 
northward ;  and,  having  found  it  worth  their  taking,  they 
located  thereon  their  grant  from  Governor  Shute  of  any  twelve 
miles  square  of  unoccupied  land  which  they  should  select 
within  the  boundaries  of  his  colony,  —  to  find,  ultimately,  that 
their  Canaan  was  not  in  Massachusetts,  but  New  Hampshire, 
and  their  grant,  consequently,  of  no  use.  As  many,  if  not 
most  of  them,  including  nearly  all  their  leaders,  had  borne 
part  in  the  defence  of  the  Protestant  stronghold  of  their  native 
land,  they,  in  memory  thereof,  discarded  the  name  of  Nutfield, 
and  were,  in  1722,  incorporated  under  that  of  LONDONDERRY. 
Having  hastily  erected  a  few  huts  of  logs,  the  pioneers 
returned  to  Haverhill  for  their  families ;  the  day  of  whose 
arrival  —  April  11  (old  style),  1719  —  is  regarded  as  that  on 
which  their  settlement  was  founded.  Eev.  James  McGregor, 
their  chosen  pastor,  preached  (from  Isa.  xxxii.  2)  next  day, 
under  a  great  oak,  the  first  sermon  ever  listened  to  in  that 
locality.  When  he  had  left  to  seek  his  family  in  Dracut,  but 
sixteen  sturdy  pioneers  and  their  families  remained ;  and 
these,  for  mutual  defence  against  Indians,  were  located  but 
thirty  rods  apart,  facing  a  brook ;  each  lot  being  a  mile  in 
depth,  or  sixty  acres  in  area.  But  two  stone  houses  of  refuge, 
in  case  of  attack,  were  soon  built,  affording  some  security 
against  savage  incursions ;  and  the  town  was  finally  laid  off 
into  lots,  each  sixty  rods  wide  on  the  road  it  fronted,  and  a 
mile  deep,  making  each  allotment  one  hundred  and  twenty 
acres.  Such  were  the  dimensions  of  the  tract  on  "  the  High 
Eange,"  allotted,  in  1721,  to  my  mother's  grandfather,  John 
Woodburn,  and  which  was  by  his  industry  transformed  into 
the  farm  whereon  she  was  born,  and  which  is  to  day  the 
property  of  her  youngest  and  only  surviving  brother,  John,* 

*  Since  this  was  first  printed  he  has  deceased,   aged  72 ;  but  the  farm  de 
scends  to  his  numerous  children. 


A  SAMPLE   OF  THE  SCOTCH-IRISH.  21 

now  about  70  years  old.  The  first  framed  house,  wherein  she 
was  born,  was  superseded,  about  1800,  by  that  wherein  she 
was  married,  and  whence  I  first  went  to  school,  which  is  now 
the  family  homestead.  No  price  was  ever  paid  for  the  Wood- 
burn  farm,  nor  has  a  deed  of  it  ever  been  given. 

Though  the  infant  settlement  of  Londonderry  was  rapidly 
augmented,  not  only  by  the  nocking  thither  of  the  original 
colonists  (whose  sixteen  families  in  April  had  thus  been 
swelled  to  seventy  by  September),  but  by  continuous  acces 
sions  of  relatives  and  friends  from  the  old  country,  yet  brave 
men  long  ploughed  and  sowed  with  a  loaded  gun  standing  as 
handy  as  might  be,  and  with  a  sharp  eye  on  the  adjacent 
woods ;  and  they  never  went  to  "  meeting  "^  on  Sunday  with 
out  carrying  their  trusty  weapon,  first  seeing  that  it  was  in 
good  order.  Nay,  their  spiritual  teacher  and  guide  for  months 
regularly  entered  his  pulpit  musket  in  hand,  and,  having 
cocked  it  and  carefully  scrutinized  the  priming,  sat  it  down 
in  one  comer,  and  devoutly  addressed  himself  to  the  ever- 
living  God.  His  influence  with  the  Marquis  de  Vaudreuil, 
then  French  Governor  of  Canada,  who  had  been  his  classmate 
at  college,  and  with  whom  he  still  maintained  a  friendly  cor 
respondence,  was  supposed  to  have  averted  from  his  charge  the 
savage  attacks  by  which  so  many  frontier  towns  were  desolated. 

Mr.  McGregor  died  in  1729,  and  was  succeeded  by  Rev. 
Matthew  Clark,  a  patriarch  who  now  came  out  from  Ireland 
on  purpose,  and  whose  memory  deserves  a  paragraph.  He 
never  ate  flesh,  but  said  nothing  on  the  subject ;  and  his  absti 
nence  was  regarded  as  an  idle  whim,  until  one  day  when  my 
great-grandmother  (his  niece,  as  I  remember),  then  a  young  girl 
and  an  inmate  of  his  house,  saw  the  pot  wherein  the  family 
dinner  was  cooking  boil  over  into  the  smaller  vessel  wherein 
was  boiling  his  frugal  mess  of  greens.  Supposing  this  of  no 
consequence,  she  said  nothing  until  —  the  family  being  seated 
at  the  table,  and  its  head  having  said  grace  and  taken  his 
first  mouthful  —  he  was  observed  to  fall  back  insensible  and 
apparently  dying.  Recovering  his  consciousness  after  a  few 
moments,  he  calmed  the  general  excitement  by  saying,  "  It  is 


22  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

nothing  —  a  trifle  —  I  shall  be  well  directly  —  only  a  little  of 
the  water  from  your  meat  has  boiled  over  into  my  greens." 
He  had  been  a  lieutenant  in  the  famous  Siege,  wherein  he 
was  wounded  in  the  temple  by  a  ball,  which  injured  a  bone 
so  that  it  never  healed;  and,  though  a  devoted  evangelist, 
could  never  forget  that  he  had  been  a  soldier.  Once,  while 
acting  as  Moderator  of  an  assembled  Presbytery,  the  music  of 
a  marching  company  was  heard,  when  his  attention  was 
wholly  absorbed  by  it.  Being  repeatedly  called  to  give  heed 
to  the  grave  business  in  hand,  his  steady  reply  was,  "Nae 
business  while  I  hear  the  roll  of  the  drum."  When  death 
came  to  him  at  seventy-six  years  of  age,  and  after  forty  years 
of  blameless  ministry,  he  said  to  sympathizing  friends,  "  I 
have  a  last  request  which  must  not  be  denied."  "  What  is  it, 
Father  Clark  ? "  "  Let  me  be  borne  to  my  rest  by  my  brother 
soldiers  in  the  Siege,  and  let  them  fire  a  parting  volley  over 
my  grave  ! "  The  military  parade  was  conceded ;  but,  accord 
ing  to  my  mother's  tradition,  the  volley,  though  promised,  was 
withheld ;  it  being  deemed  indecorous  and  unsuitable  that  so 
holy  a  man  should  be  indulged  in  a  dying  freak  so  unbe 
coming  his  cloth. 


II. 

I 

OUR    FOLKS    AT    LONDONDERRY. 

THE  current  notion  that  the  Puritans  were  a  sour,  morose, 
ascetic  people  —  objecting,  as  Macaulay  says,  to  bear- 
baiting,  not  that  it  gave  pain  to  the  bear,  but  that  it  gave 
pleasure  to  the  spectator  —  is  not  justified  by  my  recollections, 
nor  by  the  traditions  handed  down  through  my  mother.  The 
pioneers  of  Londonderry  were  so  thoroughly  Puritan  that, 
while  their  original  framed  and  well-built  meeting-house  was 
finished  and  occupied  in  the  third  year  of  the  settlement, 
when  there  were  none  other  but  log  huts  in  the  township, 
nearly  a  century  elapsed  before  any  other  than  a  Presbyterian 
or  Orthodox  Congregational  sermon  was  preached  therein,  and 
nobody  that  was  anybody  adhered  to  any  rival  church,  down 
to  a  period  within  the  memory  of  persons  still  living.  "  The 
Westminster  SJwrter  Catechism  " —  a  rather  tough  digest  of 
Calvinistic  theology,  which  aroused  my  infantile  wonder  as 
to  what  a  dreadful  bore  its  longer  counterpart  must  be  —  was, 
within  my  experience,  regularly  administered  to  us  young 
sters  once  a  week,  as  a  portion  of  our  common-school  regimen ; 
and  we  were  required  to  affirm  that  "  God  having,  out  of  his 
mere  good  pleasure,  from  all  eternity,  elected  some  to  ever 
lasting  life,"  &c.,  &c.,  as  though  it  were  next  of  kin  to  the 
proposition  that  two  and  two  make  four.  If  there  was  any 
where  a  community  strictly,  thoroughly  Puritan,  such  was 
Londonderry  down  to  at  least  1800,  as  she  mainly  is  to-day. 
And  yet  there  was  more  humor,  more  play,  more  fun,  more 
merriment,  in  that  Puritan  community,  than  can  be  found 
anywhere  in  this  anxious,  plodding  age.  All  were  measurably 


24  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

poor,  yet  seldom  were  any  hungry ;  all  wore  coarse  clothes, 
made  in  utter  contempt  of  the  fashions  which,  in  the  course 
of  three  or  four  years,  had  made  their  way  from  Paris  to 
Boston ;  yet  lads  and  lasses  were  as  comely  in  each  other's 
eyes,  though  clad  in  coarse  homespun,  as  if  they  had  been  ar 
rayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  redolent  of  lavender  and 
patchouli:  and  they  danced  with  each  other  through  long 
winter  nights  with  a  vigor  and  zest  rarely  evinced  at  Almack's 
or  in  Fifth  Avenue  mansions.     Their  weddings  were  far  more 
numerously  attended  and  more  expensive  than  are  the  average 
in  our  day ;  for  not  to  be  invited  was  an  affront,  as  it  implied 
discredit  or  insignificance  ;  and  all  who  were  invited  expected 
to  eat  and  drink  bountifully  of  the  best  that  could  be  had. 
A  general  discharge  of  musketry  throughout  the  neighbor 
hood  ushered  in  a  wedding-day ;  and  the  bridegroom's  party, 
starting  from  his  house,  was  met  by  the  bride's  at  a  point  half 
way  to  hers,  when  one  of  each  party  was  chosen  to  "  run  for 
the  bottle  "  to  the  bride's  house  ;  and  whichever  won  the  race 
returned  with  the  prize   to  the  waiting  assembly;   which, 
having  drunk  all  around,  proceeded,  under  a  dropping  fire  of 
musketry,  to  their  destination ;  where  —  the  ceremony  having 
been  duly  performed  —  drinking  was  resumed,  and  continued, 
with  alternate  feasting  and  dancing,  often  till  broad  daylight. 
Nor  was  this  the  worst.     Our  ancestors  had  somehow  caught 
from  their  Celtic  neighbors,  in  the  old  country,  despite  their 
general  antipathy,  the  infection  of  "  wakes  " ;  and  the  house 
in  which  lay  a  corpse  awaiting  burial  was  often  filled  through 
the  night  with  sympathizing  friends,  who,  after  due  religious 
observances,  proceeded  to  drown  their  sorrow  in  the  strong 
drink  supplied  in  abundance,  whereby  strange  transformations 
were  sometimes  wrought  from  plaintive  grief  to  exuberant, 
and  even  boisterous,  hilarity.      Funerals  were  attended  by 
nearly  every  one  who  seasonably  heard  of  them,  and  all  would 
have  felt  insulted  if  not  asked  to  drink  at  least  twice ;  while 
those  who  walked  to  the  grave  were  entitled  by  usage  to  a 
third  glass,  and  at  least  a  lunch,  on  their  return.     As  none- 
were  yet  rich,  while  many  were  quite  poor  on  their  arrival, 


OUR  FOLKS  AT  LONDONDERRY.  25 

many  families  were  absolutely  impoverished  by  the  expense 
imposed  on  them  by  the  funeral  of  a  deceased  member ;  while, 
if  a  wedding  and  a  funeral  occurred  within  a  few  months  in 
a  household,  it  could  hardly  escape  ruin.  Happily,  living  in 
frugal  plenty,  almost  wholly  on  their  own  products,  spending 
much  of  their  time  in  vigorous  exercise  in  the  open  air,  and 
having  but  one  doctor  within  call,  they  had  great  tenacity  of 
life ;  so  that  funerals  were  few  and  far  between. 

The  pioneers  of  Londonderry  brought  with  them  the  Potato, 
which,  despite  its  American  origin,  was  hardly  known  in  New 
England  till  they  introduced  it  from  Ireland,  where  it  had 
already  taken  root  and  flourished.  Some  of  them,  having 
spent  their  first  winter  in  America  in  a  neighboring  settle 
ment  of  Massachusetts,  planted  there  a  few  of  the  valued 
tubers,  which  were  duly  tended  by  those  to  whom  they  were 
left ;  but,  the  plants  being  matured,  they  gathered  the  seed- 
balls  from  the  stalks  and  tried  to  cook  them  into  edibility ; 
but  by  no  boiling,  baking,  or  roasting  could  they  render  them 
palatable ;  and  they  gave  it  up  that  those  Scotch-Irish  had 
unaccountable  tastes. 

Next  Spring,  however,  when  the  garden  was  duly  ploughed, 
the  large,  fair  "  murphies  "  were  rolled  out  in  generous  abun 
dance,  and,  being  dubiously  tasted,  were  pronounced  quite 
endurable.  Like  too  many  ignorant  people,  these  novices  in 
potato-eating  had  begun  at  the  wrong  end.  They  could  never 
have  made  this  mistake  in  Londonderry ;  yet  it  is  related  that 
the  first  pound  of  tea  ever  seen  there  was  received  as  a  present 
from  a  Boston  friend,  and,  being  duly  boiled  as  a  vegetable, 
and  served  up  as  "  greens,"  was  unanimously  pronounced  de 
testable,  and  pitched  out  of  doors. 

Flaxseed  was  brought  from  Ireland  by  the  pioneers ;  and 
the  growth  of  flax  and  production  of  linen  early  became  im 
portant  elements  of  the  industry  and  trade  of  Londonderry, 
though  every  operation,  from  the  sowing  of  the  seed  to  the 
bleaching  of  the  cloth,  was  effected  by  the  simplest  manual 
labor ;  and  I  can  personally  testify  that  "  breaking  flax,"  in 
the  bad,  old  way,  is  the  most  execrably  hard  work  to  which  a 


26  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

young  boy  can  be  set.  A  skilful,  resolute  man  could  hardly 
make  laborer's  wages  at  it  now,  if  the  raw  material  were  given 
him.  When  the  matrons  of  the  town  had  a  neighborhood 
gathering,  —  tea,  like  coffee,  being  then  happily  unknown,  — 
each  took  her  "little  wheel"  under  her  arm  to  the  house 
whereto  she  had  been  invited,  and  the  flow  of  conversation 
and  gossip  ran  on  for  hours  to  a  constant  "  whir,  whir "  of 
swiftly  flying  wheels.  Whitney's  Cotton  Gin  and  Arkwright's 
Spinning  Jenny  have  long  since  dismissed  those  wheels  to 
the  moles  and  the  bats  ;  but,  so  late  as  1819,  my  mother  spun 
and  wove  a  goodly  roll  of  linen  from  the  flax  grown  on  our 
farm,  bleaching  it  to  adequate  whiteness  by  spreading  it  on 
the  aftermath  of  a  meadow,  and  watering  it  thrice  per  day 
from  a  sprinkling-pot. 

Poor  folks  have  their  vanities  as  well  as  the  rich.  Most  of 
the  pioneers  had  been  small  farmers  or  artificers  "  at  home  "  ; 
and  the  rude  log  huts,  which  were  at  first  inevitable,  seemed  to 
many  good  wives  to  involve  a  sacrifice,  not  only  of  comfort,  but 
of  social  standing.  Hence  it  is  related  of  the  Morrisons,  who 
were  among  the  first  settlers,  that  the  good  dame  remonstrated 
against  the  contemplated  homestead  until  assured  that  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  when  she  acquiescingly  entreated  :  "A-weel, 
a-weel,  dear  John,  if  it  maun  (must)  be  a  log-house,  make  it  a 
log  heegher  nor  the  lave  "  (a  log  higher  that  the  rest). 

The  settlers  knew  that  their  homespun  garments  (often  of 
tow)  contrasted  strongly  with  the  trim,  dapper  apparel  of  the 
polished  denizens  of  more  refined  communities ;  but  they 
were  not  thereby  disconcerted.  Though  Burns  had  not  yet 
strung  his  immortal  lyre,  his  spirit  so  flooded  their  log-cabins 
that  he  would  have  been  welcomed  and  understood  in  any  of 
them,  but  would  have  excited  surprise  in  none.  Thus  it  is 
related  of  the  Eev.  Matthew  Clark,  already  mentioned,  that, 
among  the  audience  in  attendance  on  his  ministrations  was 
once  a  young  British  military  officer,  whose  scarlet  uniform 
far  outshone  any  rival  habiliments,  and  so  fixed  the  gaze  of 
the  young  damsels  present,  that  the  wearer,  enjoying  the  im 
pression  he  was  making,  not  only  stood  through  the  prayer 


OUR  FOLKS  AT  LONDONDERRY.  27 

with  the  rest,  but  remained  standing  after  all  others  had  sat 
down,  until  the  pastor  had  proceeded  for  some  time  with  his 
sermon.  At  length,  noticing  a  divided  attention  and  its  cause, 
the  minister  stopped,  laid  aside  his  sermon,  and,  addressing  his 
new  hearer,  said  :  "  Ye  're  a  braw  (brave)  lad  ;  ye  ha'e  a  braw 
suit  of  claithes,  and  we  ha'e  a'  seen  them  :  ye  may  sit  doun." 
The  lieutenant  dropped  as  if  shot,  and  the  sermon  was  re 
sumed  and  concluded  as  though  it  had  not  been  interrupted. 

Eev.  E.  L.  Parker's  "  History  of  Londonderry,"  to  which  I  am 
indebted  for  many  facts,  gives  the  following  specimen  of  Mr. 
Clark's  pulpit  efforts.  His  theme  was  Peter's  assurance  that, 
though  all  others  should  forsake  his  Divine  Master,  he  never 
would  ;  and  this  was  a  part  of  his  commentary  :- 

"Just  like  Peter  —  aye  mair  forrit  (forward)  than  wise; 
ounging  swaggering  aboot  wi'  a  sword  at  his  side  ;  an'  a  puir 
han'  he  mad'  o'  it  when  he  cam'  to  the  trial  ;  for  he  only  cut 
off  a  chiel's  lug  (ear)  ;  an'  he  ought  to  ha'  split  doun  his 


This  was  a  gleam  of  the  spirit  evoked  in  the  Siege  of 

Derry. 

I  fear  I  have  nowise  portrayed  the  perfect  mingling  of 
humor  and  piety  in  the  prevalent  type  of  our  Scotch-Irish 
pioneers,  —  all  of  them  baptized  in  infancy,  and  growing  up 
devoted  members  of  the  church,  —  all  hearing  the  Bible  read, 
a  hymn  sung  and  a  prayer  offered,  eaclTmorning  at  the  family 
fireside,  and  these  exercises  repeated  at  night,  so  uniformly, 
that  one  of  the  early  pastors,  having  learned  that  a  parishioner 
had  retired  without  invoking  the  throne  of  grace,  forthwith 
repaired  to  his  dwelling,  called  up  the  delinquent  and  his 
family,  made  them  kneel  and  renew  their  devotions,  and  did 
not  leave  till  they  were  finished  ;  and  yet  there  was  never  a 
people  who  loved  play  better,  or  gave  it  more  attention,  than 
these.  House-raisings,  corn-huskings,  and  all  manner  of  ex 
cuses  for  festive  merry-making,  were  frequent,  and  generally 
improved  ;  games  requiring  strength,  rather  than  skill,  espe 
cially  wrestling  (with,  I  grieve  to  say,  some  boxing),  were 
favorite  pastimes  ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  the  pioneers  of  Peter- 


28  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

borough,  N.  H., —  one  of  the  several  swarms  sent  out  by  the 
parent  hive  in  Londonderry,  —  that,  having  cut  each  his  hole 
in  the  great  woods,  and  reared  his  log-cabin,  a  meeting  was 
called  to  form  a  church,  and  generally  attended.  The  object 
having  been  duly  set  forth,  some  one  started  the  cavil :  "  I 
fear  we  are  such  a  rough  set  —  so  given  to  frolic  and  drink  — 
that  we  are  not  good  enough  to  constitute  a  church  "  ;  but  he 
was  instantly  silenced  by  another,  who,  like  a  true  Calvinist, 
observed :  "  Mr.  Moderator,  if  it  be  the  Lord's  will  that  He 
should  have  a  church  in  Peterborough,  I  am  sure  He  will  be 
willing  to  have  it  made  up  of  such  materials  as  there  are." 
So  it  was. 

The  present  township  of  Londonderry  embraces  but  a  frac 
tion  of  the  original  town,  whose  144  square  miles  have  been 
sliced  away  to  form  the  several  townships  of  Derry,  Wind- 
ham,  and  parts  of  others,  until  it  now  probably  contains  less 
than  forty  square  miles.  Though  a  railroad  now  crosses  it,  and 
accords  it  a  station,  it  has  no  considerable  village,  no  lawyer 
(I  believe) ;  its  people  nearly  all  live  by  farming,  and  own 
the  land  they  cultivate ;  three  fourths  of  them  were  born 
where  they  live,  and  there  expect  to  die.  Some  families  of 
English  lineage  have  gradually  taken  root  among  them ;  but 
they  are  still  mainly  of  the  original  Scotch-Irish  stock,  and 
even  Celtic  or  German  "  help "  is  scarcely  known  to  them. 
Simple,  moral,  diligent,  God-fearing,  the  vices  of  modern  civ 
ilization  have  scarcely  penetrated  their  quiet  homes;  and, 
while  those  who  with  pride  trace  their  origin  to  the  old  set 
tlement  are  numbered  by  thousands,  and  scattered  all  over 
our  broad  land,  I  doubt  whether  the  present  population  of 
Londonderry  exceeds  in  number  that  which  tilled  her  fields, 
and  hunted  through  her  woods,  fifty  to  sixty  years  ago. 


III. 

"THE  TIMES   THAT  TRIED  MEN'S  SOULS." 

THE  Scotch-Irish  founders  of  our  Londonderry  indignantly 
eschewed  the  characterization  of  "Irish,"  which  was 
sometimes  maliciously,  but  oftener  ignorantly,  applied  to 
them ;  stoutly  insisting  that,  as  stanch  Protestants  and 
zealous  upholders  of  the  Hanoverian  succession,  they  should 
not  be  confounded  with  the  savage  and  intractable  Celtic 
Papists  who  were  indigenous  to  Ireland.  Devoted  loyalty 
was  their  pride  and  boast,  and  was  usefully  evinced  in  the 
"Old  French  War,"  which  lasted  from  1756  to  1763,  and 
effected  a  transfer  of  the  Canadas  from  France  to  Great  Britain  ; 
yet  the  British  assumption,  directly  thereafter,  of  a  right  to 
impose  taxes  on  the  Colonies,  without  their  consent,  was  here 
early,  promptly,  zealously,  persistently  resisted;  and  the  ti 
dings  that  Colonial  blood  had  been  shed  by  British  soldiers  at 
Lexington,  Mass.,  on  the  19th  of  April,  1775,  operated  like 
an  electric  shock  on  this  rural,  peace-loving  community. 
Ten  minutes  after  receiving  it,  JOHN  STARK  —  who  had  served 
with  distinction  in  the  recent  French  war  —  stopped  the  saw 
mill  in  which  he  was  at  work,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  off 
to  Cambridge,  leaving  directions  for  his  neighbors  to  muster 
and  follow.  The  two  companies  of  Londonderry  militia  were 
immediately  assembled,  and,  though  many  had  already  has 
tened  to  the  scene  of  action,  a  full  company  —  the  best  blood 
of  the  township  —  volunteered,  choosing  GEORGE  KEED  their 
captain.  Six  days  after  the  Lexington  fray,  the  two  thousand 
New  Hampshire  men  now  confronting  General  Gage  were 
organized  by  the  convention  sitting  at  Exeter  into  two  regi- 


30  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

ments,  with  Stark  and  Eeed  as  their  respective  colonels. 
Another  regiment  from  this  thinly  peopled  colony  was  soon 
formed,  under  Colonel  Poor ;  but  the  left  wing  of  our  army, 
stationed  near  Medford,  was  composed  of  the  two  regiments 
commanded  by  Londonderry  colonels ;  and  these,  under  Stark 
and  Reed,  were  soon  deputed  to  join  the  Connecticut  men 
under  Putnam,  and  a  Massachusetts  regiment  under  Prescott, 
in  throwing  up  and  holding  the  breastwork  on  Bunker's  or 
Breed's  Hill,  in  Charlestown,  which  the  British  assailed  next 
day  with  such  memorable  consequences.  Londonderry  had 
130  men  behind  those  slight  defences.  In  the  struggle  for 
this  position,  the  New  Hampshire  men  lost  19  killed  and  74 
wounded. 

The  three  New  Hampshire  regiments  were  detached  from 
Washington's  army  to  swell  that  which,  in  1776,  was  organ 
ized  in  this  State,  under  General  Sullivan,  for  the  conquest  of 
Canada ;  but  which,  having  invaded  that  Province,  by  way  of 
the  Hudson  and  Lake  Champlain,  found  itself  outnumbered 
and  compelled  to  retreat  to  Ticonderoga,  losing  a  third  of  its 
number  by  sickness,  privation,  and  exposure.  Eejoining  Gen 
eral  Washington,  Stark's  regiment  was  conspicuous  in  the 
brilliant  affair  at  Trenton,  where  it  had  the  advance,  and  par 
ticipated  in  the  succeeding  actions  at  Princeton  and  at  Spring 
field,  K  J. 

In  the  list  of  promotions  made  by  Congress  next  Spring, 
Stark's  name  did  not  appear ;  whereupon,  lie  promptly  and 
indignantly  resigned.  But,  on  the  alarm  of  Burgoyne's  inva 
sion  from  Canada,  soon  afterward,  a  fresh  appeal  to  the  pa 
triotism  of  the  people  was  made  by  the  General  Assembly  of 
New  Hampshire ;  when  Londonderry  raised  another  company 
of  seventy  men,  besides  contributing  liberally  to  existing 
organizations.  In  fact,  there  was  nearly  a  levy  en  masse  of 
the  able-bodied  men  of  this  State  and  the  debatable  lands 
now  known  as  Vermont.  Stark  was  asked  to  take  comma  ml 
of  the  new  militia,  and  did  so ;  stipulating  only  that  he 
should  not  be  subordinate  to  any  other  commander.  Hence,  he 
refused  to  obey  General  Schuyler's  order  to  advance  to  and 


"  THE  TIMES  THAT  TRIED  MEN'S  SOULS."  31 

cross  the  Hudson,  giving  excellent  reasons  therefor ;  but,  re 
maining  within  the  territory  his  men  were  called  out  to  pro 
tect,  he  fought  and  won  —  Aug.  26, 1777  —  the  brilliant  battle 
of  Bennington,  routing  and  killing  Colonel  Baum,  the  Hessian 
Commander,  and  taking  five  hundred  prisoners.  His  speech 
to  his  troops,  on  the  brink  of  engaging,  ran  substantially  thus  : 
"  Boys,  you  see  them  Hessians.  King  George  gave  <£4  7s.  6d. 
apiece  for  'em.  I  reckon  we  are  worth  more,  and  will  prove  it 
directly.  If  not,  Molly  Stark  sleeps  a  widow  to-night ! "  There 
have  been  more  elegant  and  far  longer  speeches ;  but  this 
went  as  straight  to  its  mark  as  a  bullet. 

The  danger  to  his  State  having  thus  been  averted,  Stark 
hastened  to  join  General  Gates  on  the  Hudson,  was  in  the 
council  which  fixed  the  terms  of  Burgoyne's  surrender,  and 
was  soon  thereafter  restored  to  position  in  the  Continental 
line, — Congress  making  reparation  for  its  oversight  by  pub 
licly  thanking  him  for  his  victory  at  Bennington,  and  ap 
pointing  him  a  Brigadier-General  in  the  regular  service.  He 
remained  in  the  army  till  the  close  of  the  war,  and  lived 
forty  years  thereafter,  —  dying  May  8,  1822,  in  his  ninety- 
fourth  year. 

Colonel  Eeed,  though  not  awarded  his  rank  in  the  Conti 
nental  line,  also  served  through  the  war,  —  taking  part  in  the 
battles  of  Long  Island,  White  Plains,  Trenton,  Saratoga,  Still- 
water,  Brandywine,  Germantown,  and  in  Sullivan's  Indian 
expedition.  Having  at  length  risen  to  a  Continental  colonelcy, 
he  was  in  command  at  Albany  in  1782,  when  he  was  favored 
with  several  letters  from  Washington,  of  whose  military  and 
political  character  he  was  evermore  a  passionate  admirer. 
Having  left  his  family  in  haste,  on  the  tidings  of  the  first 
shot,  he  paid  it  but  two  or  three  hurried  visits  in  midwinter 
till  honorably  mustered  out  of  service  after  the  close  of  the 
war,  in  the  Summer  of  1783.  Meantime  his  wrife,  Mary,  sister 
of  my  grandfather  Woodburn,  was  the  ruler  of  his  household, 
the  manager  of  his  farm  and  business,  and  the  sharer  in  full 
measure  of  his  fervid,  unwearying  patriotism.  He  lived  to 
fill  several  public  stations,  including  those  of  Brigadier-Geii- 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

eral  and  Sheriff  of  his  county ;  dying  in  1815,  aged  eighty-two 
years.  His  wife  survived  him;  dying  in  1823,  at  the  ripe 
age  of  eighty-eight. 

Never  was  a  war  more  essentially  popular  than  that  waged 
in  support  of  American  Independence,  and  never  were  the 
issues  involved  more  thoroughly  debated  or  more  clearly 
understood  by  a  people.  Congress  having,  early  in  1776, 
requested  the  authorities  of  each  township  to  ascertain  and 
to'  disarm  all  persons  "who  are  notoriously  disaffected  to  the 
cause  of  America,"  the  selectmen  of  Londonderry  reported  the 
names  of  374  adult  males  in  that  town  who  had  severaUy 
signed  the  following  pledge  :  — 

"  We,  the  subscribers,  do  hereby  solemnly  engage  and  promise 
that  we  will,  to  the  utmost  of  our  power,  at  the  risk  of  our  lives 
and  fortunes,  with  arms,  oppose  the  hostile  proceedings  of  the 
British  fleets  and  armies  against  the  United  American  Colonies." 

Of  course,  those  who  had  already  enlisted,  and  were  then 
absent  in  the  Continental  service,  should  be  added  to  the 
above  list,  raising  it  nearly  to  five  hundred;  while  barely  fifteen 
men  in  that  entire  community  refused  to  sign.  Several 
"  Tories,"  however,  had  already  left,  finding  the  place  too  hot 
for  them :  among  them,  Major  Eobert  Eogers,  of  the  "  Ran 
gers/'  raised  in  1756,  who  had  served  with  distinction  through 
out  the  French  war ;  but  who  now,  taking  the  wrong  side,  was 
proscribed,  and  fled  to  England,  where  he  died.  Colonel 
Stephen  Holland,  who  had  been  one  of  the  most  eminent  and 
popular  citizens,  and  had  held  several  important  public  trusts, 
after  concealing  and  denying  his  Toryism  so  long  as  he  could, 
finally  proclaimed  it  by  fleeing  to  General  Gage  at  Boston • 
whereupon  his  property  was  confiscated.  Nowhere  was  Tory 
ism  more  execrated;  and  the  suggestion  in  the  Treaty  of 
Paris  that  the  Loyalists  should  be  permitted  to  return  to  the 
communities  they  had,  to  serve  the  king,  deserted,  was  unani 
mously  scouted  and  defied  in  full  town  meeting. 

Dr.  Matthew  Thornton,  whose  name  heads  the  list  of  signers 
to  the  pledge  aforesaid,  soon  afterward  affixed  his  signature  to 
the  immortal  Declaration  of  American  Independence.  He 


"THE   TIMES   THAT   TRIED  MEN'S  SOULS."  33 

was  born  in  Ireland  in  1714,  but  brought  over  when  but 
three  years  old ;  early  commenced  the  practice  of  medicine  in 
Londonderry,  and  steadily  rose  to  esteem  and  competence. 
He  was  a  surgeon  of  the  New  Hampshire  forces  in  the  expe 
dition  against  Cape  Breton,  in  1745,  and  was  a  colonel  of 
militia  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Kevolution.  He  was  Presi 
dent  of  the  first  Provincial  Convention  assembled  in  New 
Hampshire  after  the  retirement  of  the  royal  Governor  Went- 
worth,  and  was  chosen  by  it  a  delegate  to  Congress,  in  which 
he  did  not  take  his  seat  till  November,  1776,  when  —  though 
it  was  the  darkest  hour  of  the  struggle  —  he  at  once  signed  the 
Declaration.  After  peace  was  restored,  though  no  lawyer,  he 
was  chosen  a  judge  of  the  Superior  Court,  and  afterward 
Chief-Justice  of  the  Common  Pleas.  He  died  in  1803,  aged 
eighty-nine. 

From  first  to  last,  Londonderry  furnished  347  soldiers  to 
the  Eevolutionary  armies,  while  her  whole  number  of  adult 
males  cannpt,  as  we  have  seen,  have  much  exceeded  500. 
Some  of  these  served  but  for  short  terms ;  yet,  after  making 
every  deduction,  this  record,  from  a  purely  rural  township, 
whose  youth  had  for  forty  years  been  constantly  drawn  away 
to  pioneer  new  settlements,  not  only  in  different  parts  of 
New  Hampshire,  but  in  Londonderry  and  Windham,  Vermont, 
Truro,  Nova  Scotia,  Cherry  Valley,  N.  Y.,  &c.,  &c.,  is  one 
which  her  children  have  a  right  to  regard  with  affectionate 
pride.  And  not  only  were  town  bounties  —  liberal,  considering 
the  value  of  money  in  those  days  —  paid  to  her  volunteers,  but 
their  families  were  shielded  from  want  by  the  provident  care 
of  her  authorities  and  people.  Food  was  scarce  and  dear; 
clothing  was  scarcer  and  dearer ;  but  those  who  fought  their 
country's  battles  were  consoled  by  the  thought  that,  whatever 
might  befall  them,  their  wives  and  little  ones  should  not 
famish  or  freeze  while  bread  or  cloth  remained.  And,  when 
independence  and  peace  were  at  length  achieved,  it  was  a 
proud  reflection  that  they  had  been  won  by  the  constancy  and 
devotion,  not  of  a  class  or  a  portion,  but  of  the  entire  people. 


IV. 

RURAL  NEW  ENGLAND  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 


brothers  named  Greeley  (spelled-  five  different 
J.  ways)  migrated  to  America  in  1640.  One  settled  in 
Maine,  where  he  has  many  living  descendants  ;  another  in 
Rhode  Island,  where  he  soon  died  ;  a  third  in  Salisbury,  Mass., 
near  the  south  line  of  New  Hampshire,  into  which  his  de 
scendants  soon  migrated,  if  he  did  not.  One  large  family 
of  them  hail  from  Gilmanton  ;  another,  to  whom  I  am  less 
remotely  related,  from  Wilton  ;  my  own  great-grandfather 
(named  Zaccheus,  as  was  his  son  my  grandfather,  and  his  son 
my  father)  lived  in  or  on  the  verge  of  Londonderry,  in  what 
was  in  my  youth  Nottingham-West,  and  is  now  Hudson, 
across  the  Merrimac  from  Nashua  (which  was  then  Dunstable 
or  nothing).  I  never  heard  of  a  Woodburn  of  our  stock  who 
was  not  a  farmer  ;  but  the  Greeleys  of  our  clan,  while  mainly 
farmers,  are  in  part  blacksmiths.  Some  of  them  have  in  this 
century  engaged  in  trade',  and  are  presumed  to  have  acquired 
considerable  property  ;  but  these  are  not  of  the  tribe  of  Zac 
cheus. 

My  grandfather  Greeley  was  a  most  excellent,  though  never 
a  thrifty  citizen.  Kind,  mild,  easy-going,  honest,  and  unam 
bitious,  he  married  young,  and  reared  a  family  of  thirteen,  — 
nine  sons  and  four  daughters,  —  of  whom  he  who  died  youngest 
was  thirty  years  old  ;  while  a  majority  lived  to  be  seventy, 
and  three  are  yet  living,  —  at  least  two  of  them  having  seen 
more  than  eighty  summers. 

So  many  children  in  the  house  of  a  poor  and  by  no  means 
driving  farmer,  in  an  age  when  food  and  cloth  cost  twice  the 


RURAL  NEW  ENGLAND  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.          35 

labor  they  now  do,  made  economy  rather  a  necessity  than  a 
virtue ;  but  I  presume  none  of  those  children  ever  suffered 
protractedly  from  hunger,  while  all  of  them  obtained  such 
education  as  was  afforded  by  the  common  schools  of  sixty  to 
eighty  years  ago ;  or,  if  not,  the  fault  was  their  own.  Still, 
the  school-houses  were  ruder  and  rarer,  the  teachers  less  com 
petent,  and  the  terms  much  shorter,  than  now ;  while  attend 
ance  was  quite  irregular,  being  suspended  on  slight  pretexts ; 
so  that  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  his  winter's  schooling 
after  he  came  of  age  —  when  for  three  months  he  hired  his 
board,  attended  constantly,  and  studied  diligently  —  was  worth 
more  to  him  than  all  that  preceded  it. 

My  grandfather  owned  and  worked  small  farms  successively 
in  Hudson,  Pelham,  Nottingham,  and  Londonderry,  and  was 
living  in  the  latter  town  for  a  second  or  third  time  when,  on 
the  death  of  his  wife,  when  he  was  about  seventy-five  years 
old,  he  sold  out,  and  went  to  spend  his  remaining  days  with 
his  son  Gilbert,  living  in  Manchester;  but,  that  son  dying 
before  him,  he  found  a  home  thenceforth  in  Londonderry, 
with  his  older  son  John,  whose  farm  all  but  joins  that  of  the 
Woodburns  in  "the  High  Eange," — the  respective  houses 
being  but  a  hundred  rods  apart, —  and  here,  in  his  fulness  of 
days,  he  died,  aged  ninety-four.  (My  grandfather  Woodburn 
had  died  at  eighty-five,  nearly  thirty  years  before.)  A  de 
voted,  consistent,  life-long  Christian, —  originally  of  the  Bap 
tist,  but  ultimately  of  the  Methodist  persuasion, —  exemplary 
in  deportment  and  blameless  in  life,  I  do  not  believe  that  my 
grandfather  Greeley  ever  made  an  enemy ;  and,  while  he 
never  held  an  office,  and  his  property  was  probably  at  no  time 
worth  $  2,000,  and  generally  ranged  from  $  1,000  to  zero,  I 
think  few  men  were  ever  more  sincerely  and  generally  es 
teemed  than  he  by  those  who  knew  him. 

My  father  —  married  at  twenty-five  to  Mary  Woodburn, 
aged  nineteen  —  went  first  to  live  with  his  father,  whose  farm 
he  was  to  work,  and  inherit,  supporting  the  old  folks  and 
their  still  numerous  minor  children  ;  but  he  soon  tired  of  this, 
and  seceded ;  migrating  to  and  purchasing  the  farm  whereon 
six  of  his  seven  children  w^ere  born. 


36  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

• 

The  old  road  to  Amherst  from  the  Merrimac,  at  what  in 
my  childhood  was  Amoskeag  Falls,  crossed  by  a  rickety 
old  bridge,  with  but  two  or  three  houses  in  sight,  and  is  now 
the  manufacturing  city  of  Manchester,  with  twenty-five  thou 
sand  inhabitants,  passes  through  the  little  village  of  Piscata- 
quoag,  near  the  mouth  of  the  creek  of  like  name ;  thence 
through  the  township  and  village  of  Bedford,  and,  zigzagging 
over  the  gentler  hills,  descends,  when  about  five  miles  from 
"Amherst  Plain,"  or  village,  and  just  on  the  verge  of  the 
township,  into  the  deep  valley  of  a  brook,  not  yet  quite  large 
enough  for  a  mill-stream.  (The  road  now  travelled  is  far 
smoother  and  better,  and  passes  a  mile  or  two  southward  of 
the  old  one.)  The  "  Stewart  farm,"  of  some  forty  acres  (en 
larged  by  my  father  to  fifty),  covers  the  hillside  and  meadow 
north  of  the  road,  with  a  few  acres  south  of  it,  and  lies  partly 
in  Bedford,  but  mainly  in  Amherst.  The  soil  is  a  gravelly 
loam,  generally  strong,  but  hard  and  rocky ;  grass,  heavy  at 
first,  "binds  out"  the  third  or  fourth  year,  when  the  land 
must  be  broken  up,  manured,  tilled,  and  seeded  down  again ; 
and  a  breaking-up  team,  in  my  early  boyhood,  was  made  up 
of  four  yoke  of  oxen  and  a  horse,  whereby  an  acre  per  day 
was  seldom  ploughed.  Across  the  brook  were  two  or  three 
little  knolls,  of  an  acre  or  so  each,  in  good  part  composed  of 
water- worn  pebbles,  —  the  debris  of  I  know  not  what  antedi 
luvian  commotion  and  collision  of  glaciers  and  marine  cur 
rents,  —  which,  when  duly  fertilized  and  tilled,  produced 
freely  of  corn  or  potatoes ;  but  which,  being  laid  down  to 
grass,  utterly  refused  to  respond,  deeming  itself  better  adapted 
to  the  growth  of  sorrel,  milk-weed,  or  mullein.  The  potato 
yielded  more  bounteously  then  than  it  does  now,  and  was 
freely  grown  to  be  fed  into  pork ;  but  I  reckon  that  Indian 
corn  cost  treble,  if  not  quadruple,  the  labor  per  bushel  that 
our  Western  friends  now  give  for  it;  while  wheat  yielded 
meagrely  and  was  a  very  uncertain  crop.  Eye  and  oats  did 
much  better,  and  were  favorite  crops  to  "  seed  down  "  upon ; 
"  rye  and  Indian  "  were  the  bases  of  the  farmer's  staff  of  life  ; 
and,  when  well  made,  no  bread  is  more  palatable  or  whole- 


RURAL  NEW  ENGLAND  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 


37 


some.  The  hop  culture  was  then  common  in  our  section ; 
and,  though  fearfully  hazardous,  —  there  being  no  yield  one 
year  and  no  price  the  next,  —  was  reckoned  inviting  and  pro 
ductive.  My  father  estimated  hops  at  ten  cents  per  pound 
as  profitable  a  crop  as  corn  at  one  dollar  per  bushel. 

My  father  bought  and  removed  to  this  farm  early  in  1808  ; 


The  cot  where  I  was  born.' 


here  his  first  two  children  died ;  here  I  was  born  (February 
3,  1811),  and  my  only  surviving  brother  on  the  12th  of  June, 
1812.  The  house  —  a  modest,  framed,  unpainted  structure 
of  one  story  —  was  then  quite  new ;  it  was  only  modified 
in  our  time  by  filling  up  and  making  narrower  the  old-fash 
ioned  kitchen  fireplace,  which,  having  already  devoured  all 
the  wood  on  the  farm,  yawned  ravenously  for  more.  This 
dwelling  faces  the  road  from  the  north  on  a  bench,  or  narrow 
plateau,  about  two  thirds  down  the  hill;  the  orchard  of  natural 
fruit  covers  two  or  three  acres  of  the  hillside  northeast  of  the 
house,  with  the  patch  of  garden  and  a  small  frog-pond  between. 


38  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

4 

It  seemed  to  me  that  sweeter  and  more  spicy  apples  grew  in 
that  neglected  orchard  than  can  now  be  bought  in  market ; 
and  it  is  not  a  mere  notion  that  most  fruits  attain  their  highest 
and  best  flavor  at  or  near  the  coldest  latitude  in  which  they 
can  be  grown  at  all.  That  orchard  was  not  young  fifty  years 
ago  ;  and,  having  been  kept  constantly  in  pasture,  never  tilled 
nor  enriched,  and  rarely  pruned,  must  be  nearly  run  out  by 
this  time. 

Being  the  older  son  of  a  poor  and  hard-working  farmer, 
struggling  to  pay  off  the  debt  he  had  incurred  in  buying  his 
high-priced  farm,  and  to  support  his  increasing  family,  I  was 
early  made  acquainted  with  labor.  I  well  remember  the  cold 
summer  (1816)  when  we  rose  on  the  eighth  of  June  to  find 

the  earth  covered  with  a  good  inch  of  newly  fallen  snow, 

when  there  was  frost  every  month,  and  corn  did  not  fill  till 
October.  Plants  grew  very  slowly  that  season,  while  burrow 
ing  insects  fed  and  fattened  on  them.  My  task  for  a  time 
was  to  precede  my  father  as  he  hoed  his  corn,  dig  open  the 
hills,  and  kill  the  wire-worms  and  grubs  that  were  anticipating 
our  dubious  harvest.  To  "  ride  horse  to  plough  "  soon  became 
my  more  usual  vocation ;  the  horse  preceding  and  guiding  the 
oxen,  save  when  furrowing  for  or  tilling  the  planted  crops. 
Occasionally,  the  plough  would  strike  a  fast  stone,  and  bring  up 
the  team  all  standing,  pitching  me  over  the  horse's  head,  and 
landing  me  three  to  five  feet  in  front.  In  the  frosty  autumn 
mornings,  the  working  teams  had  to  be  "  baited  "  on  the  rowen 
or  aftermath  of  thick,  sweet  grass  beside  the  luxuriant  corn 
(maize) ;  and  I  was  called  out  at  sunrise  to  watch  and  keep* 
them  out  of  the  corn  while  the  men  ate  their  breakfast  before 
yoking  up  and  going  afield.  My  bare  feet  imbibed  a  prejudice 
against  that  line  of  duty ;  but  such  premature  rising  induced 
sleepiness  ;  so,  if  my  feet  had  not  ached,  the  oxen  would  have 
had  a  better  chance  for  corn. 

Burning  charcoal  in  the  woods  south  and  southwest  of  us 
was  a  favorite,  though  very  slow,  method  of  earning  money  in 
those  days.  The  growing  wood,  having  then  no  commercial 
value,  could  usually  be  had  for  nothing;  but  the  labor  of 


RURAL  NEW  ENGLAND  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.          39 

cutting  it  down  arid  reducing  it  to  the  proper  length,  piling  it 
skilfully,  covering  the  heap  with  sods,  or  with  straw  and  earth, 
and  then  expelling  every  element  but  the  carbon  by  smothered 
combustion,  is  rugged  and  tedious.  I  have  known  a  pit  of 
green  wood  to  be  nine  days  in  burning ;  and  every  pit  must 
be  watched  night  and  day  till  the  process  is  complete.  Night- 
watching  by  a  pit  has  a  fascination  for  green  boys,  who  have 
hitherto  slept  soundly  and  regularly  through  the  dark  hours ; 
but  a  little  of  it  usually  suffices.  To  sit  or  lie  in  a  rude  forest- 
hut  of  boards  or  logs,  located  three  or  four  rods  from  the  pit, 
with  a  good  fire  burning  between,  and  an  open,  flaring  front 
looking  across  the  fire  at  the  pit,  is  a  pleasant  novelty  of  a 
mild,  quiet  evening ;  and  many  a  jovial  story  has  been  told, 
many  a  pleasant  game  of  cards,  fox-and-geese,  or  checkers 
played,  and  (I  fear)  some  watermelons  lawlessly  purveyed  from 
neighboring  fields  and  gardens  by  night- watching  charcoal- 
burners.  But  the  taste  for  turning  out,  looking  for  and 
stopping  the  holes  that  are  frequently  burnt  through  the 
covering  of  the  pit,  is  easily  sated ;  while  a  strong  wind  that 
drives  the  smoke  of  fire  and  pit  into  the  open  mouth  of  your 
shanty,  and  threatens  to  set  fire  to  the  straw  flooring  on  which 
you  recline,  is  soon  regarded  as  a  positive  nuisance,  especially 
if  accompanied  by  a  pelting  storm.  In  a  wild  night,  your  pit 
breaks  out  far  oftener  than  in  calm  weather ;  requiring  con 
stant  attention  and  effort  to  keep  it  from  burning  up  altogether ; 
thus  consuming  the  fruits  of  weeks  of  arduous  toil.  And, 
after  a  week  of  coal-burning,  you  find  it  hard  to  return  to 
regular  sleep,  but  hastily  wake  every  hour  or  so,  and  instinc 
tively  jump  up  to  see  how  the  pit  is  going  on. 

Picking  stones  is  a  never-ending  labor  on  one  of  those  rocky 
New  England  farms.  Pick  as  closely  as  you  may,  the  next 
ploughing  turns  up  a  fresh  eruption  of  boulders  and  pebbles, 
from  the  size  of  a  hickory-nut  to  that  of  a  tea-kettle ;  and,  as 
this  work  is  mainly  to  be  done  in  March  or  April,  when  the 
earth  is  saturated  with  ice-cold  water,  if  not  also  whitened 
with  falling  snow,  youngsters  soon  learn  to  regard  it  with  de 
testation.  I  filially  love  the  "  Granite  State,"  but  could  well 
excuse  the  absence  of  sundry  subdivisions  of  her  granite. 


40  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

k 

"  Hop-picking  "  was  the  rural  carnival  —  the  festive  harvest- 
home  —  of  those  old  times ;  answering  to  the  vintage  of  south 
ern  France  or  Italy.  The  hop  matures  about  the  first  of  Sep 
tember,  when  the  vines  are  cut  near  the  ground,  the  poles 
pulled  up  and  laid  successively  across  forked  sticks  lengthwise 
of  a  large  bin,  into  which  busy  fingers  from  either  side°rapidly 
strip  the  hops  —  each  pole,  when  stripped,  being  laid  aside  and 
replaced  by  another.  The  bin  having  been  filled,  the  hops  are 
drawn  to  the  kiln,  wherein  they  are  cured  by  exposure  for 
hours  to  a  constant,  drying  heat  from  a  charcoal  fire  below ; 
after  which,  they  are  pressed,  like  cotton,  into  bales  so  com 
pact  and  dense  as  to  defy  easy  disintegration.  The  pickers  are 
mainly  young  women  —  the  daughters  of  neighboring  farmers 
—  and  the  older  children  of  both  sexes ;  while  the  handling 
of  the  poles  demands  masculine  strength  and  energy;  the 
work  is  pushed  with  ardor,  often  by  rival  groups  employed  at 
different  bins,  racing  to  see  which  will  first  have  its  bin  full. 
The  evenings  are  devoted  to  social  companionship  and  rustic 
merry-making;  friends  drop  in  to  enjoy  and  increase  the 
festivity ;  and,  if  hop-picking  is  not  now  an  agreeable  labor, 
despite  the  sore  eyes  sometimes  caught  from  it,  then  rural  life 
in  hop-growing  districts  has  lost  what  was  one  of  its  pleas- 
antest  features  half  a  century  ago. 


V. 

MY    EARLY    SCHOOL-DAYS. 

MY  mother,  having  lost  TUT  mother  when  but  five  years 
old,  was,  for  the  next  few  years,  the  especial  prote'ge'e 
and  favorite  of  her  aged  grandmother,  already  mentioned, 
who  had  migrated  from  Ireland  when  but  fourteen  years 
old,  and  whose  store  of  Scottish  and  Scotch-Irish  traditions, 
songs,  anecdotes,  shreds  of  history,  &c.,  can  have  rarely  been 
equalled.  These  she  imparted  freely  to  her  eager,  receptive 
granddaughter,  who  was  a  glad,  easy  learner,  whose  schooling 
was  better  than  that  of  most  farmers'  daughters  in  her  day, 
and  who  naturally  became  a  most  omnivorous  and  retentive 
reader.  There  were  many,  doubtless,  whose  literary  acqui 
sitions  were  more  accurate  and  more  profound  than  hers ; 
but  few  can  have  been  better  qualified  to  interest  or  to  stim 
ulate  the  unfolding  mind  in  its  earliest  stages  of  develop 
ment. 

I  was  for  years  a  feeble',  sickly  child,  often  under  medical 
treatment,  and  unable  to  watch,  through  a  closed  window,  the 
falling  of  rain,  without  incurring  an  instant  and  violent 
attack  of  illness.  Having  suddenly  lost  her  two  former  chil 
dren,  just  before  my  birth,  my  mother  was  led  to  regard  me 
even  more  fondly  and  tenderly  than  she  otherwise  might 
have  done  ;  hence,  I  was  her  companion  and  confidant  about 
as  early  as  I  could  talk ;  and  her  abundant  store  of  ballads, 
stories,  anecdotes,  and  traditions  was  daily  poured  into  my 
willing  ears.  I  learned  to  read  at  her  knee,  — of  course, 
longer  ago  than  I  can  remember ;  but  I  can  faintly  recollect 
her  sitting  spinning  at  her  "  little  wheel,"  with  the  book  in 


42 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 


her  lap  whence  I  was  taking  my  daily  lesson  ;  and  thus  I 
soon  acquired  the  facility  of  reading  from  a  book  sidewise  or 
upside  down  as  readily  as  in  the  usual  fashion,  —  a  knack 
which  I  did  not  at  first  suppose  peculiar ;  but  which,  being  at 
length  observed,  became  a  subject  of  neighborhood  wonder 
and  fabulous  exaggeration. 

Two  months  before  I  had  attained  the  age  of  three  years, 
I  was  taken  home  by  my  grandfather  Woodburn  to  spend  a 
few  weeks  with  him,  and  sent  to  school  from  his  house,  —  the 

: 


My  First  School-House 

school-house  of  his  district  being  but  fifty  rods  from  his  door ; 
whereas,  our  proper  school-house  in  Amlierst  was  two  miles, 
and  the  nearest  school-house  (in  Bedford)  over  a  mile,  from 
my  father's.  Hence,  I  lived  at  my  grandfather's,  and  went 
thence  to  school,'  most  of  each  Winter  and  some  months  in 
Summer  during  the  next  three  years. 

My  first   schoolmaster  was   David  Woodburn  Dickey,  a 
nephew  of  my  grandfather,  a  college  graduate,  and  an  able, 


MY  EARLY  SCHOOL-DAYS.  43 

worthy  man,  though  rather  a  severe  tha,n  a  successful  gov 
ernor  of  youth.  The  district  was  large  ;  there  were  ninety 
names  on  its  roll  of  pupils,  —  many  of  them  of  full-grown 
men  and  women,  not  well  broken  to  obedience  and  docility, 

—  with  an  average  attendance  of  perhaps  sixty  ;  all  to  be 
instructed  in  various  studies,  as  well  as  ruled,  by  a  single 
teacher,  who  did  his  very  best,  which  included  a  liberal  ap 
plication  of  birch  and  ferule.     He  was  a  cripple  ;  and  it  was 
all  he  could  do,  with  his  high  spirit  and  unquestioned  moral 
superiority,  to  retain  the  mastery  of  the  school. 

Our  next  teacher  in  Winter  was  Cyrus  Winn,  from  Massa 
chusetts,  —  a  tall,  muscular,  thoroughly  capable  young  man, 
who  rarely  or  never  struck  a  blow,  but  governed  by  moral 
force,  and  by  appeals  to  the  nobler  impulses  of  his  pupils. 
They  were  no  better,  when  he  took  charge  of  them,  than  his 
predecessor's  had  been,  —  in  fact,  they  were  mainly  the  same, 

—  yet  his   sway  was   far   more   complete,  and   the   revolts 
against  it  much  rarer ;  and  when  he  left  us,  at  the  close  of 
his  second  term,  a  general  attendance  of  parents  on  his  last 
afternoon,  with  a  rural  feast  of  boiled  cider  and  doughnuts, 
attested  the  emphatic  appreciation  of  his'  worth.      For  my 
own  part,  I  could    enjoy   nothing,   partake  of  nothing,   so 
intense  was  my  grief  at  parting  with  him.     It  was  the  first 
keen  sorrow  of  iny  life.     I  never  saw  him  again,  but  learned 
that  he  was  drowned  the  next  Winter. 

There  was  an  unruly,  frolicsome  custom  of  "  barring  out " 
in  our  New  Hampshire  common  schools,  which  I  trust  never 
obtained  a  wider  acceptance.  On  the  first  of  January,  and 
perhaps  on  some  other  day  that  the  big  boys  chose  to  consider 
or  make  a  holiday,  the  forenoon  passed  off  as  quietly  as  that 
of  any  other  day  ;  but,  the  moment  the  master  left  the  house 
in  quest  of  his  dinner,  the  little  ones  were  started  homeward, 
the  door  and  windows  suddenly  and  securely  barricaded,  and 
the  older  pupils,  thus  fortified  against  intrusion,  proceeded  to 
spend  the  afternoon  in  play  and  hilarity.  I  have  known  a 
master  to  make  a  desperate  struggle  for  admission ;  but  I  do 
not  recollect  that  one  ever  succeeded,  —  the  odds  being  too 


44  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

great.  If  he  appealed  to  the  neighboring  fathers,  they  were 
apt  to  recollect  that  they  had  been  boys  themselves,  and 
advise  him  to  desist,  and  let  matters  take  their  course.  I 
recollect  one  instance,  however,  where  a  youth  was  shut  out 
who  thought  he  ought  to  have  been  numbered  with  the  elect, 
and  resolved  to  resent  his  exclusion.  Procuring  a  piece  of 
board,  he  mounted  from  a  fence  to  the  roof  of  the  school- 
house,  and  covered  the  top  of  the  chimney  nicely  with  his 
board.  Ten  minutes  thereafter,  the  house  was  filled  with 
smoke,  and  its  inmates,  opening  the  door  and  windows,  were 
glad  to  make  terms  with  the  outsider. 

The  capital  start  given  me  by  my  mother  enabled  me  to  make 
rapid  progress  in  school,  —  a  progress  monstrously  exaggerated 
by  gossip  and  tradition.  I  was  specially  clever  in  spelling, 
—  an  art  in  which  there  were  then  few  even  tolerably  pro 
ficient,  —  so  that  I  soon  rose  to  the  head  of  the  "  first  class," 
and  usually  retained  that  position.  It  was  a  custom  of  the 
school  to  "  choose  sides  "  for  a  "  spelling-match  "  one  afternoon 
of  each  week,  —  the  head  of  the  first  class  in  spelling,  and 
the  pupil  standing  next,  being  the  choosers.  In  my  case, 
however,  it  was  found  necessary  to  change  the  rule,  and  con 
fide  the  choice  to  those  who  stood  second  and  third  respec 
tively  ;  as  I  —  a  mere  infant  of  four  years  —  could  spell,  but 
not  choose,  —  often  preferring  my  playmates,  who  could  not 
spell  at  all. 

These  spelling-matches  usually  took  place  in  the  evening, 
when  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  open,  and  should  have  been 
in  bed.  It  was  often  necessary  to  rap  me  sharply  when  "  the 
word  "  came  around  to  me  ;  but  I  never  failed  to  respond ; 
and  it  came  to  be  said  that  I  spelled  as  well  asleep  as  awake. 
I  apprehend  that  this  was  more  likely  to  be  true  of  some 
others  of  the  class  ;  who,  if  ever  so  sound  asleep,  could 
scarcely  have  spelled  worse  than  they  did. 

We  very  generally  complain  of  frequent  changes  in  our 
school-books,  and  with  reason.  Yet  we  ought  to  consider 
that  these  frequent  changes  have  resulted  in  signal  improve 
ment  ;  that  'our  school-books  of  to-day  are  not  only  far 


MY  EARLY  SCHOOL-DAYS.  45 

better  than  those  of  fifty  years  ago,  but  that  their  improve 
ment  has  not  been  fully  paralleled  elsewhere.  When  I  first 
went  to  school,  Webster's  Spelling-Book  was  just  supplant 
ing  Dilworth's  ;  "  The  American  Preceptor "  was  pushing 
aside  "  The  Art  of  Heading " ;  and  the  only  grammar  in  use 
was  "  The  Ladies'  Accidence,"  by  Caleb  Bingham,  —  as  poor 
an  affair  as  its  name  would  indicate.  Geography  was  scarcely 
studied  at  all ;  while  chemistry,  geology,  and  other  depart 
ments  of  natural  science,  had  never  been  heard  of  in  rural 
school-houses.  "  Morse's  Geography,"  which  soon  carne  into 
vogue,  was  a  valuable  compend  of  political  and  statistical 
information  ;  but,  having  barely  one  map,  would  scarcely 
pass  for  a  school  geography  now.  Very  soon,  Lindley  Mur 
ray's  Grammar  and  English  Eeader  came  into  fashion,  —  solid 
works,  but  not  well  adapted  to  the  instruction  of  children  of 
eight  to  fourteen  years.  In  fact,  I  spent  considerable  time  on 
grammar  to  little  purpose,  and  made  no  decided  progress 
therein,  till  I  had  learned  to  scan  my  authorities  critically, 
and  repudiate  their  errors.  When  I  had  pondered  myself 
into  a  decided  conviction  that  Murray  did  not  fully  under 
stand  his  subject,  and  that  his  giving  "Let  me  be"  as  an 
example  of  the  first,  and  "  Let  him  be  "  as  its  correlative  in 
the  third  person  singular  of  the  imperative  mood,  were  simply 
blunders,  which  a  deeper  knowledge  of  grammar  would  have 
taught  him  to  avoid,  I  had  broken  loose  from  the  shackles  of 
routine  and  iteration,  and  was  prepared  to  accept  all  the  light 
from  any  quarter  that  might  irradiate  the  science.  Daniel 
Adams  (a  New  Hampshire  man,  now  lately  deceased)  had  not 
then  published  his  lucid  and  favorite  Arithmetic,  or,  if  he 
had,  it  had  not  reached  us;  Pike's  far  more  difficult  work 
was  in  general  use.  I  cannot  say  what  progress  has  very 
recently  been  made  ;  but  Greenleaf,  some  thirty  or  forty 
years  since,  shortened  the  time  and  effort  required  to  gain  a 
decent  knowledge  of  English  grammar  by  at  least  one  half. 
I  believe  like  progress  has  been  made  in  elementary  treatises 
in  other  departments  of  knowledge. 

The  first  book  I  ever  owned  was  "  The  Columbian  Orator," 


46  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

given  to  me  by  my  uncle  Perry  (husband  of  my  father's  old 
est  sister),  as  I  lay  very  sick  of  the  measles  at  my  maternal 
grandfather's,  when  about  four  years  of  age.  Those  who 
happen  to  have  been  familiar,  in  its  day,  with  that  volume, 
will  recollect  it  as  a  medley  of  dialogues,  extracts  from  ora 
tions,  from  sermons,  from  speeches  in  Parliament,  in  Congress, 
and  at  the  Bar,  with  two  or  three  versified  themes  for  decla 
mation,  such  as  "  Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise  ! "  and  the 
lines  (since  attributed  to  Edward  Everett,1  but  who  must 
have  written  them  very  young,  if  he  wrote  them  at  all) 
beginning,  "  You  'd  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age  to  speak  in 
public  on  the  stage,"  -  —  lines  which  I  was  dragged  forward  to 
recite  incessantly,  till  I  fairly  loathed  them.  This  "  Orator  " 
was  my  prized  text-book  for  years,  and  I  became  thoroughly 
familiar  with  its  contents  ;  though  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
learned  much  of  value  from  it,  —  certainly  not  oratory.  The 
first  large  work  that  I  ever  read  consecutively  was  the  Bible, 
tinder  the  guidance  of  my  mother,  when  I  was  about  five 
years  old. 

I  attended  school,  rather  irregularly,  during  the  brief  term 
of  my  fifth  and  sixth  summers,  in  the  western  district  of 
Bedford,  about  a  mile  from  my  father's.  For  the  next  two 
years,  we  lived  in  that  township,  —  my  father  having  rented 
his  own  farm  to  a  brother,  and  himself  removed  to  the  much 
larger  "  Beard  Farm,"  in  the  eastern  part  of  that  town,  which 
he  had  undertaken  to  work  on  shares.  Here  we  were  again 
nearly  equidistant  from  two  school-houses  ;  living  in  the 
northeastern  district,  but  often  attending  the  school  at  the 
centre  of  the  town,  which  was  much  larger,  and  generally 
better  taught. 

Here  I  first  learned  that  this  is  a  world  of  hard  work. 
Often  called  out  of  bed  at  dawn  to  "  ride  horse  to  plough  " 
among  the  growing  corn,  potatoes,  and  hops,  we  would  get  as 
much  ploughed  by  9  to  10  A.  M.  as  could  be  hoed  that  day ; 
when  I  would  be  allowed  to  start  for  school,  where  I  some- 

1  Their  author,  I  have  learned  since  the  above  was  first  printed,  was  Moses 
Everett,  a  Massachusetts  teacher  of  sixty  to  eighty  years  ago. 


MY  EARLY  SCHOOL-DAYS.  47 

times  arrived  as  the  forenoon  session  was  half  through.  In 
Winter,  our  work  was  lighter ;  but  the  snow  was  often  deep 
and  drifted,  the  cold  intense,  the  north  wind  piercing,  and 
our  clothing  thin  ;  beside  which,  the  term  rarely  exceeded, 
and  sometimes  fell  short  of,  two  months.  I  am  grateful  for 
much  —  schooling  included  —  to  my  native  State  ;  yet  I  trust 
her  boys  of  to-day  generally  enjoy  better  facilities  for  educa 
tion  at  her  common  schools  than  they  afforded  me  half  a 
century  ago. 

The  French  have  a  proverb  importing  that  in  age  we  re 
turn  to  the  loves  of  our  youth.  I  have  asked  myself,  "  How 
would  you  like  to  return  to  that  cot  on  the  hillside,  and  spend 
the  rest  of  your  days  there  ? "  My  answer,  is  that  I  would 
not  like  it,  — that,  though  adversity  drove  me  inexorably 
thence,  I  have  been  so  thoroughly  weaned  that  I  have  no 
wish  to  go  back  "  for  good."  The  cot  still  looks  friendly  and 
kindly  when  I  (too  seldom)  pass  it ;  the  farm  and  the  orchard 
are  still  familiar  objects,  and  I  would  gladly  muse  a  sunny, 
genial  Autumn  day  there ;  but  my  heart  no  longer  recognizes 
that  spot  as  its  home. 

The  last  Summer  that  we  lived  in  New  Hampshire,  an 
offer  was  made  by  the  leading  men  of  our  neighborhood  to 
send  me  to  Phillips  Academy  at  Exeter,  and  thence  to  col 
lege,  —  the  expense  being  so  defrayed  that  no  part  of  it  should 
fall  on  my  parents.  They  listened  thoughtfully  to  the  pro 
posal,  briefly  deliberated,  then  firmly,  though  gratefully,  de 
clined  it ;  saying  that  they  would  give  their  children  the 
best  education  they  could  afford,  and  there  stop.  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  had  then  any  decided  opinion  or  wish  in  the 
premises  ;  but  I  now  have  ;  and,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  I  thank  my  parents  for  their  wise  and  manly  decision. 
Much  as  I  have  needed  a  fuller,  better  education,  I  rejoice 
that  I  am  indebted  for  schooling  to  none  but  those  of  whom 
I  had  a  right  to  ask  and  expect  it. 


VI. 

ADIEU   TO    NEW   HAMPSHIRE. 

OUE  tenancy  of  the  "  Beard  Farm/'  in  Bedford,  answered 
very  nearly  to  my  seventh  and  eighth  years.  That  was 
a  large  and  naturally  good  farm,  but  in  a  state  of  dilapidation  : 
overgrown  with  bushes  and  briers,  its  fences  in  ruins,  and  the 
buildings  barely  able  to  stand  alone, —  the  large  two-story 
house  more  especially  far  gone.  My  father  had  let  his  own 
farm,  on  shares,  to  a  younger  brother,  whom  he  wished  and 
hoped  thus  to  serve,  while  he  was  led  to  expect  payment  for 
whatever  improvements  he  should  make  on  that  which  he 
had  taken  instead.  He  was  disappointed  every  way;  his 
health  failed,  and  he  was  for  nearly  a  year  unable  to  work ; 
his  brother  did  not  prosper  on  our  place ;  while  the  promises 
which  had  lured  us  to  the  larger  sphere  of  effort  were  not 
made  good.  To  us  children  —  by  this  time,  four  in  number 
—  the  larger  house  and  broader  activities  of  the  hired  farm 
were  a  welcome  exchange  ;  but  our  fortunes,  manifestly,  waned 
there ;  and  I  think  we  were  all  soberly  glad  to  return  to  our 
own  snugger  house  and  smaller  farm,  in  the  Spring  of  1820. 
As  we  were  trying  to  work  off  a  lee-shore,  I  believe  neither 
of  us  boys  went  to  school  at  all  that  Summer,  though  I  was 
but  nine  years  old,  and  my  brother  not  eight  till  June. 

All  in  vain.  The  times  were  what  is  termed  "  hard," —  that 
is,  almost  every  one  owed,  and  scarcely  any  one  could  pay. 
The  rapid  strides  of  British  manufactures,  impelled  by  the 
steam-engine,  spinning-jenny,  and  power-loom,  had  utterly 
undermined  the  homely  household  fabrications  whereof  Lon 
donderry  was  a  prominent  American  focus ;  my  mother  still 


ADIEU  TO  NEW  HAMPSHIRE.  49 

carded  her  wool  and  flax,  spun  her  yarn,  and  wove  her  woollen, 
linen,  and  tow  cloth ;  but  they  found  no  market  at  living 
prices  ;  our  hops  sold  for  little  more  than  the  cost  of  bagging  ; 
and,  in  short,  we  were  bankrupt.  I  presume  my  father  had 
never  been  quite  out  of  debt  since  he  bought  his  place ;  but 
sickness,  rash  indorsements  (a  family  failing),  and  bad  luck 
generally,  had  swelled  his  indebtedness  to  something  like 
$  1,000,  —  which  all  we  had  in  the  world  would  not,  at  current 
prices,  pay.  In  fact,  I  do  not  know  how  much  property  would 
have  paid  $1,000  in  New  Hampshire  in  1820,  when  almost 
every  one  was  hopelessly  involved,  every  third  farm  was  in 
the  sheriff's  hands,  and  every  poor  man  leaving  for  "the 
West "  who  could  raise  the  money  requisite  for  getting 
away.  Everything  was  cheap, —  dog-cheap, —  British  goods 
especially  so ;  yet  the  comparatively  rich  were  embarrassed, 
and  the  poor  were  often  compulsorily  idle,  and  on  the  brink 
of  famine.  I  have  not  been  much  of  a  Free-Trader  ever 
since. 

We  had  finished  our  Summer  tillage  and  our  haying,  when 
a  very  heavy  rain  set  in,  near  the  end  of  August.  I  think  its 
second  day  was  a  Saturday ;  and  still  the  rain  poured  till  far 
into  the  night.  Father  was  absent  on  business  ;  but  our  mother 
gathered  her  little  ones  around  her,  and  delighted  us  with 
stories  and  prospects  of  good  things  she  purposed  to  do  for  us 
in  the  better  days  she  hoped  to  see.  Father  did  not  return 
till  after  we  children  were  fast  asleep ;  and,  when  he  did,  it 
was  with  tidings  that  our  ill-fortune  was  about  to  culminate. 
I  guess  that  he  was  scarcely  surprised,  though  we  young  ones 
ruefully  were,  when,  about  sunrise  on  Monday  morning,  the 
sheriff  and  sundry  other  officials,  with  two  or  three  of  our 
principal  creditors,  appeared,  and  —  first  formally  demanding 
payment  of  their  claims  —  proceeded  to  levy  on  farm,  stock, 
implements,  household  stuff,  and  nearly  all  our  worldly  pos 
sessions  but  the  clothes  we  stood  in.  There  had  been  no  writ 
issued  till  then,  —  of  course,  no  trial,  no  judgment,  —  but  it 
was  a  word  and  a  blow  in  those  days,  and  the  blow  first,  in 
the  matter  of  debt-collecting  by  legal  process.  Father  left 


50  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

the  premises  directly,  apprehending  arrest  and  imprisonment, 
and  was  invisible  all  day ;  the  rest  of  us  repaired  to  a  friendly 
neighbor's,  and  the  work  of  levying  went  on  in  our  absence. 
It  were  needless  to  add  that  all  we  had  was  swallowed  up, 
and  our  debts  not  much  lessened.  Our  farm,  which  had  cost 
us  $  1,350,  and  which  had  been  considerably  improved  in  our 
hands,  was  appraised  and  set  off  to  creditors  at  $  500,  out  of 
which  the  legal  costs  were  first  deducted.  A  barn-full  of  rye, 
grown  by  us  on  another's  land,  whereof  we  owned  an  undivided 
half,  was  attached  by  a  doctor,  threshed  out  by  his  poorer 
customers  by  days'  work  on  account,  and  sold ;  the  net  result 
being  an  enlargement  of  our  debt, —  the  grain  failing  to  meet 
all  the  costs.  Thus,  when  night  fell,  we  were  as  bankrupt  a 
family  as  well  could  be. 

We  returned  to  our  devastated  house ;  and  the  rest  of  us 
stayed  there  while  father  took  a  journey  on  foot  westward,  in 
quest  of  a  new  home.  He  stopped  in  the  township  of  Hamp 
ton,  Washington  County,  N.  Y.,  and  worked  there  two  or  three 
months  with  a  Colonel  Parker  French,  who  tilled  a  noble  farm, 
and  kept  tavern  on  the  main  road  from  Troy  into  western 
Vermont.  He  returned  to  us  in  due  time,  and,  on  the  1st  of 
January,  1821,  we  all  started  in  a  hired  two-horse  sleigh,  witli 
the  little  worldly  gear  that  was  left  us,  for  the  township  of 
Westhaven,  Vermont,  where  father  had  hired,  for  $  16  per 
annum,  a  small  house,  in  which,  after  an  intensely  cold  jour 
ney,  we  were  installed  three  days  later. 


Let  me  revert  for  a  little  to  our  New  Hampshire  life,  ere  I 
bid  it  a  final  adieu. 

I  have  already  said  that  Amherst  and  Bedford  are  in  the 
main  poor  towns,  whose  hard,  rocky  soil  yields  grudgingly, 
save  of  wood.  Except  in  the  villages,  if  even  there,  there 
were  very  few  who  could  be  called  forehanded  in  my  early 
boyhood.  Poor  as  we  were,  no  richer  family  lived  within 
sight  of  our  humble  homestead,  though  our  western  prospect 
was  only  bounded  by  the  "  Chestnut  Hills,"  two  or  three  miles 


ADIEU  TO  NEW  HAMPSHIRE.  51 

away:  On  the  east,  our  range  of  vision  was  barred  by  the 
hill  on  the  side  of  which  we  lived.  The  leading  man  of  our 
neighborhood  was  Captain  Nathan  Barnes,  a  Calvinist  deacon, 
after  whom  my  brother  was  named,  and  who  was  a  farmer  of 
decided  probity  and  sound  judgment, —  worth,  perhaps,  8  3,000. 
Though  an  ardent  Federalist,  as  were  a  majority  of  his  towns 
men,  he  commanded  a  company  of  "  exempts,"  raised  to  defend 
the  country  in  case  of  British  invasion,  during  the  war  of 
1812. 

The  Eevolutionary  War  was  not  yet  thirty  years  bygone 
when  I  was  born,  and  its  passions,  its  prejudices,  and.  its 
ballads  were  still  current  throughout  that  intensely  Whig 
region.  When  neighbors  and  neighbors'  wives  drew  together 
at  the  house  of  one  of  their  number  for  an  evening  visit,  there 
were  often  interspersed  with  "  Cruel  Barbara  Allen,"  and  other 
love-lorn  ditties  then  in  vogue,  such  reminiscences  of  the  pre 
ceding  age  as  "  American  Taxation,"  a  screed  of  some  fifty 
prosaic  verses,  opening  thus  :  — 

"  While  I  relate  my  story, 

Americans,  give  ear ; 
Of  Britain's  fading  glory 

You  presently  shall  hear. 
I  '11  give  a  true  relation, 

(Attend  to  what  I  say,) 
Concerning  the  taxation 

Of  North  America." 

The  last  throes  of  expiring  loyalty  are  visible  in  this  long- 
drawn  ballad, —  Bute  and  North,  and  even  Fox,  being  soundly 
berated  for  acts  of  tyranny  whereof  their  royal  master, 
George  III.,  was  sole  author,  and  they  but  reluctant,  hesitat 
ing,  apprehensive  instruments. 

The  ballads  of  the  late  war  with  Great  Britain  were  not  so 
popular  in  our  immediate  neighborhood,  though  my  mother 
had  good  store  of  these  also,  and  sang  them  with  spirit  and 
effect,  along  with  "  Boyne  Water,"  "  The  Taking  of  Quebec,"  by 
Wolfe,  and  even  "Wearing  of  the  Green,"  which,  though 
dating  from  Ireland's  '98,  has  been  revived  and  adopted  in 
our  day,  with  so  vast  and  deserved  an  Irish  popularity. 


52  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

We  were,  in  the  truest  sense,  democrats,  we  Scotch-Irish 
Federalists  from  Londonderry,  where  Jefferson  received  but 
two  votes  in  the  memorable  struggle  of  1800.  When,  for  a 
single  year  at  the  "  Beard  Farm,"  our  house  echoed  to  the  tread 
of  a  female  "  help,"  whose  natural  abilities  were  humble,  and 
whose  literary  acquirements  were  inferior  even  to  ours,  that 
servant  always  ate  with  the  family,  even  when  we  had  the 
neighbors  as  "company";  and,  though  her  wages  were  but 
fifty  cents  a  week,  she  had  her  party,  and  invited  the  girls  of 
the  neighborhood  to  be  her  guests  at  tea,  precisely  as  if  she 
had  been  a  daughter  of  the  house.  Nowhere  were  manners 
ever  simpler,  or  society  freer  from  pretension  or  exclusiveness, 
than  in  those  farmers'  homes. 

Hospitality  was  less  bounteous,  and  kinship  less  prized, 
than  in  the  days  of  the  Scotch-Irish  pioneers ;  but  there  was 
still  much  visiting  of  relatives  and  social  enjoyment,  especially 
in  Winter,  when  hundreds  returned  to  the  old  Londonderry 
hive  from  the  younger  swarms  scattered  all  over  the  East : 
some  of  them  beginning  to  stretch  away  even  to  the  far  "  Hol 
land  Purchase,"  in  Western  New  York ;  then  practically  as 
distant  as  Oregon  or  Alaska  now  is.  I  remember  when  the 
Doles  left  the  "  Chestnut  Hills  "  to  pitch  their  tent  in  Illinois, 
—  then  a  far  bolder  venture  than  migration  to  Sitka  would 
now  be.  I  have  often  seen  my  grandfather  Woodburn's  house 
crammed  for  days  with  cousins  and  nephews  from  Vermont 
and  other  'Derry  settlements,  who  could  not  be  so  many  as 
to  miss  a  hearty  welcome.  Our  house  was  far  smaller,  and 
less  frequented ;  but  its  latch-string  was  always  out ;  and  a 
free  liver,  with  twelve  brothers  and  sisters,  to  say  nothing  of 
their  partners  by  marriage  and  their  children,  is  not  apt  to 
be  persistently  shunned.  In  fact,  we  lived  better  than  we 
could  afford  to  (as  poor  folks  are  too  apt  to  do),  and  this  was 
one  cause  of  our  downfall.  My  father,  as  proud  as  he  was 
poor,  spared  nothing  when  friends  and  relatives,  especially 
those  of  higher  social  standing,  favored  him  with  their  com 
pany,  and  was  rarely  found  unable  to  fulfil  their  most  sanguine 
expectations.  When  too  many  dropped  in  upon  us  at  once, 


ADIEU  TO  NEW  HAMPSHIRE.  53 

or  we  were  found  deficient  in  the  luxuries  they  might  fairly 
expect,  he  had  a  habit  of  telling  them  this  anecdote  :  — 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,"  said  he,  "  I  worked  two 
summers  in  the  great  brick-yards  of  Medford,  Mass.  My 
employer,  Mr.  Marshall,  was  at  first  a  new  man  in  the  com 
munity,  whose  wife  deemed  it  incumbent  on  her  to  give  her 
neighbors  a  tea-party,  as  a  prelude  to  better  acquaintance. 
In  those  ante-canal  days,  wheaten  flour  was  a  luxury,  though 
nearly  all  had  it  for  '  company '  occasions ;  ordinarily,  our 
bread  was  made  of  '  rye  and  Indian '  exclusively.  Mrs.  Mar 
shall,  on  the  great  occasion,  had  the  inevitable  '  short-cake ' 
for  tea, —  of  rye  flour,  as  all  could  perceive  :  still,  it  was  not 
imperative  on  common  folks  to  proffer  cake  of  wheaten  flour ; 
and  all  would  have  passed  off  without  remark,  and  been  soon 
forgotten,  but  for  a  maladroit  explanation  by  the  hostess. 
'  Ladies,'  said  she  to  her  guests,  '  I  beg  you  not  to  infer  that 
we  have  no  wheat  flour,  from  the  fact  that  I  give  you  rye 
short-cake.  We  have  wheat  flour  in  the  house ;  but  I  thought 
I  would  save  that  for  Mr.  Marshall,  when  he  comes  to  work 
hard  in  haying-time.' "  The  astonished  guests  tittered ;  the 
glee  broadened  into  a  loud  laugh  as  the  explanation  galloped 
through  the  neighborhood ;  and  it  readily  passed  into  a  proverb, 
that  anything  deficient  on  a  kindred  occasion  was  saved  for 
Mr.  Marshall  in  haying-time.  "  Friends,"  added  my  father, 
in  conclusion,  "if  you  note  anything  deficient  in  our  fare, 
consider  that  it  is  saved  for  Mr.  Marshall  in  haying-time." 


VII. 

WESTHAVEN. 

THE  township  of  Westhaven,  Vermont,  comprises  that 
irregular  corner  of  the  State  which  is  bounded  by  Lake 
Champlain  on  the  west,  and  by  Hampton  and  Whitehall, 
1ST.  Y.,  on  the  south  and  southeast,  and  may  be  roughly  com 
pared  to  a  very  blunt  wedge  driven  into  the  State  of  New 
York  ;  its  point  being  formed  by  the  rather  sharp  angle  which 
the  little  Poultney  river,  which  here  divides  the  two  States, 
makes  with  the  Lake,  in  which  it  is  finally  lost.  The  general 
plain  or  level,  widening  from  south  to  north,  which  separates 
the  Green  Mountains  from  that  lake,  is  here  repeatedly  broken 
by  gentle  upheavals  of  limestone,  and,  less  frequently,  by 
higher  and  more  precipitous  ridges  of  gneiss  or  of  trap,  which 
increase  in  number  and  height  as  you  approach  the  chain  of 
verdant  hills  which  have  given  the  State  her  name. 

This  whole  region  was  thickly  covered  by  heavy  timber,  — 
in  good  part,  white  pine,  —  when  its  devastation  by  our  race 
commenced ;  and  its  proximity  to  navigable  water,  with  the 
abundance  of  mill-streams  everywhere  pervading  it,  incited 
its  rapid  monopoly  for  "  lumbering  "  purposes.  A  Dr.  Smith, 
from  Connecticut,  —  brother  of  one  and  uncle  of  another 
Governor  of  that  State,  —  pitched  his  tent  in  Westhaven  (then 
a  part  of  Fairhaven)  some  seventy  to  eighty  years  ago,  and 
did  great  execution  upon  the  pines  ;  rapidly  amassing  wealth, 
and  becoming  an  extensive  landholder.  Death  stopped  him 
in  mid-career,  paralyzing  his  activity,  and  dividing  his  prop 
erty,  whereof  part  was  inherited  by  his  brother,  and  the 
residue  by  his  widow ;  who  soon  married  Christopher  Minot, 


WESTHAVEN.  55 

a  Boston  banker,  who  thenceforth  made  his  home  in  West- 
haven  ;  inhabiting  the  spacious  mansion  which  his  predecessor, 
had  barely  lived  to  complete.  Our  first  home  in  Vermont 
was  on  his  estate,  and  within  a  few  rods  of  his  mansion ;  and 
we  mainly  worked  for  him,  or  on  his  land,  while  we  lived  in 
that  town. 

Westhaven  might  have  been,  and  should  be  to-day,  a  rich 
grazing  township ;  but  for  its  original  wealth  of  pines,  it  pro 
bably  would  have  been.  But  its  pioneers,  high  and  low,  were 
lumbermen ;  and  it  has  never  yet  liberated  itself  from  their 
baleful  sway.  As  Moore  says,— 

"  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  it  all." 

As  the  pines  had  begun  to  fail,  I  presume  its  population  was 
declining  when  wTe  settled  there,  or  a  house  that  might  be 
lived  in  with  frugal  comfort  could  not  have  been  hired  for 
$16  per  annum ;  but  it  had  then  a  considerably  larger  popu 
lation  than  it  has  to-day,  —  our  school-district  at  least  twice 
as  much.  "  Going  West "  has  ever  since  been  the  general 
proclivity;  though  I  believe  any  one  who  understands  and 
likes  dairy  farming  can  buy  land  and  buildings  there  cheaper 
than  anywhere  beyond  the  Ohio.  By  and  by  some  one  will 
settle  there  who  knows  how  to  apply  the  superabundant  lime 
to  the  strong  but  stubborn  clay ;  making  farms  richly  worth 
$  100  per  acre  which  now  go  begging  at  $  30.  Until  then,  let 
Westhaven  sleep ;  for  /  lack  power  or  time  to  wake  her.  I 
can  heartily  commend  her  remaining  people  —  all  farmers, 
after  a  sort  —  as  too  honest  to  need  a  lawyer,  and  too  wise  to 
support  a  grog-shop,  even  though  the  law  had  not  forbidden 
any  one  to  open  it. 

When  we  first  set  our  stakes  there,  father  was  thirty-eight 
and  mother  was  thirty-three  years  old.  I  was  not  quite  ten ; 
my  brother  and  two  sisters,  eight,  six,  and  four,  respectively. 
A  third  sister  —  the  youngling  of  the  flock  —  was  born  two 
years  later ;  and  all  five  of  us  children  have  been  spared 
through  the  intervening  forty-seven  years. 

We  now  made  the  acquaintance  of  genuine  poverty,  —  not 


56  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

beggary,  nor  dependence,  but  the  manly  American  sort.  Our 
.sum  total  of  worldly  goods,  including  furniture,  bedding,  and 
the  clothes  we  stood  in,  may  have  been  worth  $  200  ;  but,  as 
we  had  afterward  to  pay  that  amount  on  old  New  Hampshire 
debts,  our  material  possessions  may  be  fairly  represented  by  0, 
with  a  credit  for  $  200  worth  of  clothing  and  household  stuff. 
Yet,  we  never  needed  nor  ran  into  debt  for  anything ;  never 
were  without  meal,  meat,  and  wood,  and  very  rarely  without 
money.  Father  went  to  chopping  at  fifty  cents  per  day,  with 
out  repining  or  apprehension;  and  we  children  all  went  to 
school  till  Spring,  though  there  were  no  school-funds  in  those 
days,  and  rate-bills  for  four  children  made  quite  a  hole  in  a 
gross  income  of  $  3  per  week.  Hitherto,  we  had  never  lived 
within  a  mile  of  a  school-house ;  now,  we  were  within  fifty 
rods  of  one,  —  in  fact,  of  two  ;  for  a  quarrel  had  split  the  dis 
trict,  and  two  schools  were  in  full  blast  on  our  arrival,  —  one 
on  either  side  of  us.  The  Vermont  schools  were  rather  better 
than  the  New  Hampshire, — better,  at  least,  in  this:  their 
terms  were  longer.  I  never  tried  them  in  Summer,  —  except 
during  one  very  rainy  day ;  but  I  had  a  full  opportunity  in 
Winter;  and  I  deeply  regret  that  such  homely  sciences  as 
Chemistry,  Geology,  and  Botany  were  never  taught,  —  were 
not  even  named  therein.  Had  our  range  of  studies  included 
these,  I  had  ample  time  to  learn  something  of  them ;  and  this 
would  have  proved  of  inestimable  value  to  me  evermore.  Yet, 
I  am  thankful  that  Algebra  had  not  yet  been  thrust  into  our 
rural  common  schools,  to  knot  the  brains  and  squander  the 
time  of  those  who  should  be  learning  something  of  positive 
and  practical  utility. 

Before  the  Spring  of  1821  opened,  father  had  taken  a  job  of 
clearing  fifty  acres  of  wild  land,  a  mile  north  of  our  cot ;  and 
here  he  and  his  sons  were  employed,  save  in  Winter,  for  the 
next  two  years. 

The  work  was  rugged  and  grimy,  but  healthful.     The  land 

had  been  timbered  with  Yellow  Pine,  a  thousand  years  before, 

—  as  a  hundred  giant  trunks,  long  since  prostrated,  but  not 

yet  wholly  mouldered  back  to  dust,  attested.     This  was  fol- 


WESTHAVEN.  57 

lowed  by  a  forest  of  White  Pines,  of  which  hundreds  were 
still  standing,  mostly  lifeless ;  while  a  large  number  lay  prone 
and  dead,  though  the  trunks  were  mainly  sound.  Black  Ash 
in  abundance  formed  a  later  and  generally  living  growth; 
though  a  fierce  conflagration,  which  swept  over  this  whole 
region,  during  a  great  drouth,  four  years  before  we  saw  it,  had 
devoured  much,  and  killed  more  of  the  forest,  but  increased 
the  undergrowth  of  Beech,  Alder,  Poplar,  etc.,  which  we  were 
required  to  dispose  of.  When  we  first  attacked  it,  the  snow 
was  just  going,  and  the  water  and  slush  were  knee-deep.  We 
were  all  indifferent  choppers,  when  compared  with  those  who 
usually  grapple  with  great  forests ;  and  the  job  looked  so  for 
midable  that  travellers  along  the  turnpike  which  skirted  our 
task  were  accustomed  to  halt  and  comfort  us  with  predictions 
that  we  boys  would  be  grown  men  before  we  saw  the  end  of 
it.  But,  cutting  trees  and  bushes ;  chopping  up  great  trunks 
into  manageable  lengths,  drawing  them  together,  rolling  up 
and  burning  great  heaps  of  logs ;  saving  out  here  and  there  a 
log  that  would  do  to  saw ;  digging  out  rotten  pines  from  the 
soil  wherein  they  had  embedded  themselves,  so  that  they 
might  dry  sufficiently  to  burn ;  piling  and  burning  brush  and 
rotten  or  worthless  sticks,  and  carting  home  such  wood  as 
served  for  fuel,  we  persevered  until  the  job  was  done ;  when  I 
could  have  begun  another  just  like  it  and  managed  so  as  not 
to  require  more  than  two  thirds  of  the  labor  we  expended  on 
this.  And  now,  if  any  one  has  a  great  tract  of  land  to  clear 
of  trees,  decaying  logs,  and  bushes,  I  fancy  that  I  might  give 
him  hints  worth  considering.  N.  B.  —  I  work  for  pay. 

We  had  been  farmers  of  the  poorer  class  in  New  Hamp 
shire  ;  we  took  rank  with  day-laborers  in  Vermont.  We  had 
lived  freely,  though  not  lavishly,  much  less  sumptuously,  in 
our  earlier  home  ;  here,  we  were  compelled  to  observe  a  sterner 
frugality.  The  bread  of  our  class  in  this  section  was  almost 
exclusively  made  of  rye,  —  Indian  corn  being  little  grown  on 
the  clay  soil  of  Western  Vermont,  —  and,  though  there  are 
always  about  six  women  alive  who  know  how  to  make  of  rye 
the  best  bread  ever  tasted,  our  mother  was  not  one  of  these, 


58  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  never  learned  their  admirable  art.  Then  the  clay  itself, 
alternating  with  the  weather  from  mire  to  rock,  is  not  well 
adapted  to  bare  feet;  while  the  detestable  Canada  thistles, 
which  infest  every  road  and  almost  every  h'eld  in  Westhaven, 
are  not  conducive  to  placidity  of  temper  or  propriety  of  speech. 
Having  the  sharp  lances  of  these  thistles  dug  out  of  my  fes 
tered  feet  with  needles  was  long  my  daily  terror  and  my 
nightly  torture;  the  tough,  horny  integument  with  which 
their  rough  experiences  had  covered  our  naked  feet  rendering 
the  dislodgement  of  the  thistle-beards  more  laborious  and 
painful  than  any  soft-footed  person  can  realize.  I  have  never 
since  been  able  to  appraise  stiff  clay  soils  at  their  full  value. 

A  precipitous  ledge,  eighty  rods  east  of  the  turnpike  from 
which  we  worked  westward,  afforded  us  good  spring  water, 
and  supplied  us  also  with  rattlesnakes,  whereof  we  killed 
some,  which  might  have  proved  annoying  to  us  barefoot  boys, 
as  we  worked  among  the  brush  and  weeds,  had  they  caught 
the  idea.  Still,  clearing  land  is  pleasant  work,  especially 
when  you  have  a  hundred  heaps  of  logs  and  brush  burning  at 
once  of  a  dark,  windy  night ;  while  ten  or  twenty  acres  of 
fallen,  leafy  timber,  on  fire  at  once,  affords  a  magnificent  spec 
tacle.  We  were  to  have  had  $  7  per  acre,  with  the  use  of  a 
team,  and  half  the  wood  suitable  for  timber  and  fuel ;  and, 
though  $  350,  even  in  those  days,  was  not  large  pay  for  two 
years'  work  of  a  man  and  two  boys,  we  were  well  satisfied. 
In  the  event,  however,  Mr.  Minot  died  before  we  had  effected 
a  settlement;  when  his  estate  was  declared  insolvent,  and  we 
were  juggled  out  of  a  part  of  our  pay. 

Our  third  year  in  Vermont  was  spent  two  miles  farther 
west,  where  we  inhabited  and  worked  a  little  place  known  as 
Flea  Knoll,  while  father  ran  a  neighboring  saw-mill  on  shares. 
As  he  sawed  twelve  hours  on  and  twelve  oil',  with  a  partner, 
I  insisted  on  being  his  helper ;  but  I  think  once  working  from 
noon  till  midnight  satiated  my  ambition,  and  I  never  fully 
learned  the  art  and  mystery  of  sawing  boards  by  W;IUT- power. 
My  brother,  though  younger,  was  more  persistent,  and  made 
greater  progress.  I  gave  that  Summer  pretty  diligently  to 


WESTHAVEN.  59 

farming,  with  very  meagre  results.  First,  the  season  was  wet 
till  the  1st  of  June ;  and  our  corn,  planted  in  mortar,  encoun 
tered  a  brick-like  crust  when  it  undertook  to  come  up ;  and, 
unable  to  pierce  or  break  it,  pushed  laterally  under  it  for  two 
inches  or  so,  until  we  dug  off  the  crust,  and  introduced  the 
pale,  imprisoned  shoots  to  sunshine.  Next  came  a  long  Sum 
mer 'of  intense  drouth,  baking  and  cracking  our  fields,  so  that 
the  hoe  made  no  serious  impression  on  their  rock-like  masses, 
causing  the  corn  to  stand  still  and  turn  yellow,  while  the 
thistles  came  up  thick,  rank,  and  vigorous,  covering  the  fields 
with  a  verdure  most  deceitful  to  the  eye  at  a  distance.  We 
had  failed  in  an  attempt  to  make  maple  sugar  that  Spring:  the 
season  being  bad,  the  trees  distant,  and  our  knowledge  of  the 
art  very  meagre;  our  crops  amounted  to  little;  while  the 
water  we  drank  here  was  so  bad  that  the  fever  and  ague  struck 
down  our  parents  in  the  Fall,  and  all  of  us  children  next 
Spring,  when  we  beat  a  precipitate  retreat  from  "  Flea  Knoll," 

where  it  was  said  that  no  family  ever  remained  more  than 

a  yearj  _  and  returned  to  the  Minot  estate ;  living  in  a  larger 
house  just  west  of  our  former  tenement,  cultivating  the  adja 
cent  land  on  shares,  and  clearing  off  some  twenty  acres  more 
of  young  White  Pine,  for  which  we  were  to  be  paid  by  two 
years'  crops ;  which  proved,  in  the  main,  a  failure  :  our  wheat 
being  destroyed  by  the  midge. 

Thus  ended  my  boyish  experiences  of  farming,  which  may 
be  said  to  have  commenced  in  my  sixth,  and  closed  with  my 
fifteenth  year.  During  the  whole  period,  though  an  eager 
and  omnivorous  reader,  I  never  saw  a  book  that  treated  of 
Agriculture  and  the  natural  sciences  auxiliary  thereto.  I  think 
I  never  saw  even  one  copy  of  a  periodical  devoted  mainly  to 
farming ;  and  I  doubt  that  we  ever  harvested  one  bounteous 
crop.  A  good  field  of  rye,  or  corn,  or  grass,  or  potatoes,  we 
sometimes  had ;  but  we  had  more  half  crops  than  whole  ones  ; 
and  a  good  yield  of  any  one  product  was  generally  balanced 
by  two  or  three  poor  ones.  I  know  I  had  the  stuff  in  me  for 
an  efficient  and  successful  farmer ;  but  such  training  as  I 
received  at  home  would  never  have  brought  it  out.  And  the 


60  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

moral  I  would  deduce  from  my  experience  is  simply  this : 
Our  farmers'  sons  escape  from  tJieir  fatJiers  calling  whenever 
they  can,  because  it  is  made  a  mindless,  monotonous  drudgery, 
instead  of  an  ennobling,  liberalizing,  intellectual  pursuit.  Could 
I  have  known  in  my  youth  what  a  business  farming  some 
times  is,  always  may  be,  and  yet  generally  shall  be,  I  would 
never  have  sought  nor  chosen  any  other.  In  the  farmer's 
calling,  as  I  saw  it  followed,  there  was  neither  scope  for  ex 
panding  faculties,  incitement  to  constant  growth  in  knowl 
edge,  nor  a  spur  to  generous  ambition.  To  preserve  existence 
was  its  ordinary  impulse;  to  get  rich,  its  exceptional  and 
most  exalted  aim.  So  I  turned  from  it  in  dissatisfaction,  if 
not  in  disgust,  and  sought  a  different  sphere  and  vocation. 


Fairhaven,  lying  southeast  of  Westhaven,  was  the  poorer 
of  the  two  towns  thirty  years  ago,  producing  no  surplus  but 
of  rye,  which  was  readily  transmuted  into  whiskey,  and  drank 
at  home  to  no  profit;  but  the  more  recent  development  of 
her  natural  wealth  in  slate,  with  the  erection  of  mills  for  saw 
ing  the  marble  abundantly  found  a  few  miles  farther  east,  lias 
given  her  a  pretty  rapid  and  quite  substantial  growth.  Though 
limited  in  area,  and  nowise  inviting  in  soil,  Fairhaven  now 
takes  rank  with  the  more  prosperous  townships  of  Vermont ; 
a  considerable  accession  of  inhabitants,  —  mainly  Welsh  min 
ers  and  Irish  laborers,  —  with  the  erection  of  new  dwellings 
and  other  structures,  evincing  the  thrift  which  everywhere 
attends  or  follows  the  opening  of  a  new  field  for  productive 
industry.  Fairhaven  might  to-day  be  mistaken,  at  a  hasty 
glance,  for  a  growing  township  of  Pennsylvania  or  Ohio; 
while  Westhaven  —  having  no  pursuit  but  Agriculture  —  lies 
petrified  and  lifeless  as  though  located  in  Nova  Scotia  or 
Lower  Canada.  Clearly,  Man  was  not  intended  to  live  by 
bread  alone,  —  whether  the  eating  or  the  growing  of  it. 


VIII. 


MY    APPRENTICESHIP. 

HAVING  loved  and  devoured  newspapers — indeed,  every 
form  of  periodical  —  from  childhood,  I  early  resolved 
to  be  a  printer  if  I  could.  When  but  eleven  years  old,  hear 
ing  that  an  apprentice  was  wanted  in  the  newspaper  office  at 
Whitehall,  I  accompanied  my  father  to  that  office,  and  tried 
hard  to  find  favor  in  the  printer's  eyes ;  but  he  promptly  and 
properly  rejected  me  as  too  young,  and  would  not  relent ;  so 
I  went  home  downcast  and  sorrowful.  No  new  opportunity 
was  presented  till  the  Spring  of  1826,  when  an  apprentice  was 
advertised  for  by  the  publishers  of  The  Northern  Spectator,  at 
East  Poultney,  Vt.  That  paper  had  just  been  purchased  by 
an  association  of  the  leading  citizens  of  the  place  from  its 
founders,  Messrs.  Smith  and  Shute,  who  had  started  it  as  The 
Poultney  Gazette  three  or  four  years  before.  The  village, 
though  larger  and  more  active  then  than  now,  was  not  ade 
quate  to  the  support  of  a  newspaper ;  but  the  citizens  thought 
otherwise,  and  resolved  to  maintain  one,  under  the  manage 
ment  of  a  committee.  So  they  hired  from  New  York  an 
editor,  —  Mr.  E.  G.  Stone,  brother  of  the  more  distinguished 
editor  of  The  Commercial  Advertiser,  —  paid  handsomely  for 
the  printing-office  and  good-will,  and  went  ahead.  Much  of 
the  old  force  having  left  with  the  retiring  publishers,  there 
was  room  for  a  new  apprentice,  and  I  wanted  the  place.  My 
father  was  about  starting  for  the  wide  West  in  quest  of  a 
future  home ;  so,  not  needing  at  the  moment  my  services,  he 
readily  acceded  to  my  wishes.  I  walked  over  to  Poultney, 
saw  the  publishers,  came  to  an  understanding  with  them,  and 


62  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

returned;  and  a  few  days  afterward  —  April  18,  1826- 
my  father  took  me  down,  and  verbally  agreed  with  them  for 
my  services.  I  was  to  remain  till  twenty  years  of  age,  be 
allowed  my  board  only  for  six  months,  and  thereafter  $  40  per 
annum  in  addition  for  my  clothing.  So  I  stopped,  and  went 
to  work ;  while  he  returned  to  Westhaven,  and  soon  left  in 
quest  of  a  more  inviting  region.  He  made  his  way  to  the 
town  of  Wayne,  Erie  County,  Pennsylvania,  on  the  State  line 
opposite  Clymer,  Chautauqua  County,  N.  Y.,  —  a  spot  where 
his  brothers  Benjamin  and  Leonard  had,  three  or  four  years 
earlier,  made  holes  in  the  tall,  dense  forest,  which  then 
covered  nearly  all  that  region. for  twenty  to  fifty  miles  in 
every  direction.  He  bought  out  first  one,  then  another 
pioneer,  until  he  had  at  length  two  or  three  hundred  acres  of 
good  land,  but  covered  with  a  heavy  growth  of  Beech,  Maple, 
Elm,  Hemlock,  &c.  Having  made  his  first  purchase,  —  which 
included  a  log  hut,  and  four  acres  of  clearing,  —  he  returned 
for  his  family  ;  and  I  walked  over  from  Poultney  to  spend  a 
Sabbath  with  and  bid  them  farewell. 

It  was  a  sad  parting.  We  had  seen  hard  times  together, 
and  were  very  fondly  attached  to  each  other.  I  was  urged 
by  some  of  my  kindred  to  give  up  Poultney,  —  where  there 
were  some  things  in  the  office  not  exactly  to  my  mind,  —  and 
accompany  them  to  their  new  home ;  whence,  they  urged,  I 
could  easily  find,  in  its  vicinity,  another  and  better  chance  to 
learn  my  chosen  trade.  I  was  strongly  tempted  to  comply ; 
but  it  would  have  been  bad  faith  to  do  so  ;  and  I  turned  my 
face  once  more  toward  Poultney  with  dry  eyes  but  a  heavy 
heart.  A  word  from  my  mother,  at  the  critical  moment, 
might  have  overcome  my  resolution ;  but  she  did  not  speak 
it,  and  I  went  my  way;  leaving  the  family  soon  to  travel 
much  farther,  and  in  an  opposite  direction.  After  the  parting 
was  over,  and  I  well  on  my  way,  I  was  strongly  tempted  to 
return ;  and  my  walk  back  to  Poultney  (twelve  miles)  was 
one  of  the  slowest  and  saddest  of  my  life. 

I  have  ever  since  been  thankful  that  I  did  not  yield  to  the 
temptation  of  the  hour.  Poultney  was  a  capital  place  to 


MY  APPRENTICESHIP.  63 

serve  an  apprenticeship.  Essentially  a  rural  community,  her 
people  are  at  once  intelligent  and  moral ;  and  there  are  few 
villages  wherein  the  incitements  to  dissipation  and  vice  are 
fewer  or  less  obtrusive.  The  organization  and  management 
of  our  establishment  were  vicious ;  for  an  apprentice  should 
have  one  master  ;  while  I  had  a  series  of  them,  and  often  two 
or  three  at  once.  First,  our  editor  left  us  ;  next,  the  company 
broke  up  or  broke  down,  as  any  one  might  have  known  it 
would ;  and  a  mercantile  firm  in  the  village  became  owners 
and  managers  of  the  concern ;  and  so  we  had  a  succession  of 
editors  and  of  printers.  These  changes  enabled  me  to  demand 
and  receive  a  more  liberal  allowance  for  the  later  years  of  my 
apprenticeship ;  but  the  office  was  too  laxly  ruled  for  the 
most  part,  and,  as  to  instruction,  every  one  had  perfect  liberty 
to  learn  whatever  he  could.  In  fact,  as  but  two,  or  at  most 
three,  persons  were  employed  in  the  printing  department,  it 
would  have  puzzled  an  apprentice  to  avoid  a  practical  knowl 
edge  of  whatever  was  done  there.  I  had  not  been  there  a 
year  before  my  hands  were  blistered  and  my  back  lamed  by 
working  off  the  very  considerable  edition  of  the  paper  on  an 
old-fashioned,  two-pull  Ramage  (wooden)  press,  —  a  task  be 
yond  my  boyish  strength,  —  and  I  can  scarcely  recall  a  day 
wherein  we  were  not  hurried  by  our  work.  I  would  not 
imply  that  I  worked  too  hard ;  yet  I  think  few  apprentices 
work  more  steadily  and  faithfully  than  I  did  throughout  the 
four  years  and  over  of  my  stay  in  Poultney.  While  I  lived 
at  home,  I  had  always  been  allowed  a  day's  fishing,  at  least 
once  a  month  in  Spring  and  Summer,  and  I  once  went  hunt 
ing  ;  but  I  never  fished,  nor  hunted,  nor  attended  a  dance,  nor 
any  sort  of  party  or  fandango,  in  Poultney.  I  doubt  that  I 
even  played  a  game  of  ball. 

Yet  I  was  ever  considerately  and  even  kindly  treated  by 
those  in  authority  over  me  ;  and  I  believe  I  generally  merited 
and  enjoyed  their  confidence  and  good- will.  Very  seldom 
was  a  word  of  reproach  or  dissatisfaction  addressed  to  me  by 
one  of  them.  Though  I  worked  diligently,  I  found  much 
time  for  reading,  and  might  have  had  more,  had  every  leisure 


64  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

hour  been  carefully  improved.  I  had  been  generously  loaned 
books  from  the  Minot  house  while  in  Westhaven ;  I  found 
good  ones  abundant  and  accessible  in  Poultney,  where  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  public  library.  I  have  never 
since  found  at  once  books,  and  opportunity  to  enjoy  them,  so 
ample  as  while  there ;  I  do  not  think  I  ever  before  or  since 
read  to  so  much  profit.  They  say  that  apprenticeship  is  dis 
tasteful  to,  and  out  of  fashion  with,  the  boys  of  our  day  :  if  so, 
I  regret  it  for  their  sakes.  To  the  youth  who  asks,  "  How 
shall  I  obtain  an  education  ? "  I  would  answer,  "  Learn  a 
trade  of  a  good  master."  I  hold  firmly  that  most  boys  may 
thus  better  acquire  the  knowledge  they  need  than  by  spending 
four  years  in  college. 

I  was  kindly  allowed  to  visit  my  father's  family  in  their 
new  Western  home  twice  during  my  apprenticeship ;  having 
a  furlough  of  a  month  in  either  instance.  I  made  either  jour 
ney  by  way  of  the  Erie  Canal,  on  those  line-boats  whose  "  cent 
and  a  half  a  mile,  mile  and  a  half  an  hour,"  so  many  yet 
remember.  Eailroads,  as  yet,  were  not;  the  days  passed 
slowly  yet  smoothly  on  those  gliding  arks,  being  enlivened 
by  various  sedentary  games ;  but  the  nights  were  tedious 
beyond  any  sleeping-car  experience.  At  daybreak,  you  were 
routed  out  of  your  shabby,  shelf-like  berth,  and  driven  on 
deck  to  swallow  fog  while  the  cabin  was  cleared  of  its  beds 
and  made  ready  for  breakfast.  I  say  nothing  as  to  "  the  good 
old  times "  ;  but,  if  any  one  would  recall  the  good  old  line- 
boats,  I  object.  And  the  wretched  little  tubs  that  then  did 
duty  for  steamboats  on  Lake  Erie  were  scarcely  less  conducive 
to  the  increase  and  diffusion  of  human  misery.  I  have  suf 
fered  in  them  to  the  extent  of  mortal  endurance ;  I  have  left 
one  at  Dunkirk,  and  walked  twenty  miles  to  Westfield,  instead 
of  keeping  on  by  boat  at  a  trifling  charge,  simply  because 
flesh  and  blood  could  bear  the  torture  no  longer.  I  trust  T 
have  due  respect  for  "  the  good  old  ways  "  we  often  hear  of ; 
yet  I  feel  that  this  earthly  life  has  been  practically  lengthened 
and  sweetened  by  the  invention  and  construction  of  railroads. 

Among  the  incidents  of  my  sojourn  in  Poultney  that  made 


MY  APPRENTICESHIP.  65 

most  impression  on  my  mind  is  a  fugitive  slave-chase.  New 
York  had  professed  to  abolish  slavery  years  before,  but  had 
ordained  that  certain  born  slaves  should  remain  such  till 
twenty-eight  years  old ;  and  the  year  of  jubilee  for  certain  of 
these  had  not  yet  come.  A  young  negro,  who  must  have  been 
uninstructed  in  the  sacredness  of  constitutional  guaranties, 
the  rights  of  property,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.,  feloniously  abstracted  him 
self  from  his  master  in  a  neighboring  New  York  town,  and 
conveyed  the  chattel-personal  to  our  village ;  where  he  was 
at  work  when  said  master,  with  due  process  and  following, 
came  over  to  reclaim  and  recover  the  goods.  I  never  saw  so 
large  a  muster  of  men  and  boys  so  suddenly  on  our  village- 
green  as  his  advent  incited ;  and  the  result  was  a  speedy  dis 
appearance  of  the  chattel,  and  the  return  of  his  master,  dis 
consolate  and  niggerless,  to  the  place  wrhence  he  came.  Every 
thing  on  our  side  was  impromptu  and  instinctive ;  and  nobody 
suggested  that  envy  or  hate  of  "  the  South,"  or  of  New  York, 
or  of  the  master,  had  impelled  the  rescue.  Our  .people  hated 
injustice  and  oppression,  and  acted  as  if  they  could  n't  help  it. 
Another  fresh  recollection  of  those  far-off  days  concerns 
our  Poultney  celebration  of  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  Ameri 
can  Independence.  I  know  we  still  celebrate  the  Fourth  of 
July ;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that  the  glory  has  departed. 
In  those  times,  we  had  always  from  twenty  to  fifty  Kevolu- 
tionary  soldiers  on  the  platform,  —  veterans  of  seventy  to 
ninety  years,  in  whose  eyes  the  recurrence  of  the  nation's  an 
niversary  seemed  to  rekindle  "  the  light  of  other  days."  The 
semi-centennial  celebration  brought  out  these  in  full  force,  — 
the  gatherings  were  unusually  large,  and  the  services  impres 
sive;  since  few  of  those  present,  and  none  of  the  veterans,  could 
rationally  hope  to  see  its  repetition.  The  Declaration  of  In 
dependence  sounded  far  less  antediluvian  than  it  now  does; 
the  quarrel  of  the  colonists  with  King  George,  if  not  recent, 
was  yet  real ;  and  the  old  soldiers  forgot  for  a  day  their  rheu 
matism,  their  decrepitude,  and  their  poverty,  and  were  proud 
of  their  bygone  perils  and  hardships,  and  their  abiding  scars. 
I  doubt  that  Poultney  has  since  been  so  thrilled  with  patriotic 

5 


C6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

emotion  as  on  that  4th  of  July,  1826 ;  and  when  we  learned, 
a  few  days  later,  that  Thomas  Jefferson  and  John  Adams,  the 
author  and  the  great  champion,  respectively,  of  the  Declara 
tion,  had  both  died  on  that  day,  and  that  the  messengers 
bearing  South  and  North,  respectively,  the  tidings  of  their 
decease,  had  met  in  Philadelphia,  under  the  shadow  of  that 
Hall  in  which  our  Independence  was  declared,  it  seemed  that 
a  Divine  attestation  had  solemnly  hallowed  and  sanctified  the 
great  anniversary  by  the  impressive  ministration  of  Death. 


Time  works  changes,  even  where  a  hasty  glance  discerns 
but  immobility  and  virtual  stagnation.  A  railroad  from  Troy 
to  Eutland  (via  Eagle  Bridge  and  Salem,  N.  Y.)  now  runs 
through  West  Poultney;  increasing  the  decided  advantage 
which  that  village  had  already  achieved  over  its  rival  by  the 
establishment  within  its  limits  of  a  great  Methodist  seminary 
and  of  certain  manufactures.  East  Poultney  has  fewer  stores, 
fewer  mechanics'  shops,  less  business,  and  fewer  inhabi 
tants,  than  when  I  first  saw  it,  forty-odd  years  ago;  while 
scarcely  a  house  has  meantime  been  built  within  its  limits. 
It  is  still  a  pleasant  place  to  visit,  however ;  and  I  live  in 
hopes  of  spending  a  quiet  week  there  ere  I  die. 


Our  paper  was  intensely  Adams  and  Clay  before,  and  in  the 
Presidential  struggle  of  1828,  and  our  whole  community  sym 
pathized  with  its  preference.  The  defection  of  our  State's  fore 
most  politician,  Governor  Cornelius  P.  Van  Ness,  after  he  had 
vainly  tried,  while  professing  to  be  an  Adams  man,  to  vault  from 
the  Governor's  chair  into  the  United  States  Senate,  created 
a  passing  ripple  on  the  face  of  the  current,  but  did  not  begin 
to  stem  it.  A  few  active  yet  unpopular  politicians  went  over 
with  him  ;  but  the  masses  stood  firm,  especially  in  our  section, 
where  the  influence  of  Hon.  Ptollin  C.  Mallary,  our  represent 
ative  in  Congress,  was  unrivalled.  The  Jackson  party  nomi 
nated  him  for  Congress ;  but  that  did  not  affect  his  position, 
nor  much  affect  his  vote,  which  in  any  case  would  have  been 
nearly  unanimous.  We  Vermonters  were  all  Protectionists ; 


MY  APPRENTICESHIP.  67 

and  Mr.  Mallary  was  the  foremost  champion  of  our  cause  in 
the  House.  He  made  a  speech  in  Poultney  the  evening  before 
the  election,  when,  though  the  omens  were  sinister,  we  still 
hoped  that  Adams  might  be  reflected.  The  Jackson  paper 
nearest  us  headed  its  Electoral  Ticket,  "  For  General  Jackson 
and  a  Protective  Tariff";  and  Jackson  men  all  over  the 
North  and  West  protested  that  their  party  was  as  decidedly 
for  Protection  as  ours ;  pointing  to  the  attitude  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  at  once  the  leading  Protectionist  and  the  strongest 
Jackson  State ;  but  we  could  not  help  seeing  that  all  the 
Free  Traders  were  for  Jackson;  that  Calhoun  was  running 
with  him  for  Vice-President ;  and  that  South  Carolina  was 
threatening  nullification  and  forcible  resistance  if  the  Protec 
tive  policy  were  not  abandoned ;  and  we  concluded  that  either 
Pennsylvania  or  Carolina  must  be  cheated,  and  that  the  latter 
would  take  good  care  not  to  be.  So  Mr.  Mallary  urged  us  to 
stand  fast  by  those  whom  we  knew  to  be  devoted  to  our  cher 
ished  policy,  rather  than  try  those  whose  professions  were 
discredited  by  notorious  facts  ;  and  the  response  in  our  section 
was  enthusiastic.  Poultney  gave  next  day  334  votes  for 
Adams  to  4  for  Jackson.  I  doubt  that  her  vote  has  ever 
since  been  so  unanimous  or  so  strong.  And,  though  the  gen 
eral  result  was  heavily  adverse  to  our  desperate  hopes,  —  only 
New  England,  not  quite  half  of  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Dela 
ware,  and  part  of  Maryland,  giving  Mr.  Adams  their  votes ; 
while  Pennsylvania,  the  rest  of  New  York,  and  all  the  South 
and  West,  went  against  him,  —  we  had  the  poor  consolation, 
that,  for  whatever  disaster  the  political  revolution  might 
involve,  no  shadow  of  responsibility  could  rest  on  our  own 
Vermont. 


IX. 

MY   FAITH. 

I  MUST  have  been  about  ten  years  old,  when,  in  some 
school-book,  whereof  I  have  forgotten  the  name,  I  first 
read  an  account  of  the  treatment  of  the  Athenians  by  Deme 
trius,  called  Poliorcetes  (Destroyer  of  Cities),  one  of  the  suc 
cessors  of  "  Macedonia's  madman."  I  cannot  rediscover  that 
account ;  so  I  must  be  content  with  the  far  tamer  and  less 
vivid  narration  of  the  French  historian  Rollin  :  — 

"  Demetrius  had  withdrawn  himself  to  Ephesus  after  the  Battle 
of  Ipsus,  [wherein  he  was  routed,]  and  thence  embarked  for  Greece  ; 
his  whole  resources  being  trusted  to  the  affection  of  the  Athenians, 
with  whom  he  had  left  his  fleet,  money,  and  wife,  Deidamia.  But 
he  was  strangely  surprised  and  offended  when  he  was  met  on  his 
way  by  ambassadors  from  the  Athenians,  who  came  to  apprise  him 
that  he  could  not  be  admitted  into  their  city,  because  the  people 
had,  by  a  decree,  prohibited  the  reception  of  any  of  the  kings  ; 
they  also  informed  him  that  his  consort,  Deidamia,  had  been  con 
ducted  to  Megara  with  all  the  honors  and  attendance  due  to  her 
dignity.  Demetrius  was  then  sensible  of  the  value  of  honors  and 
homages  extorted  by  fear,  and  which  did  not  proceed  from  the  will. 
The  posture  of  his  affairs  not  permitting  him  to  revenge  the  perfidy 
of  that  people,  he  contented  himself  with  kitimating  his  complaints 
to  them  in  a  moderate  manner,  and  demanded  his  galleys ;  with 
which,  as  soon  as  he  had  received  them,  he  sailed  toward  the 
Chersonesus." 

Not  many  months  elapsed  before,  through  one  of  those 
strange  and  sudden  mutations  which  were  frequent  through 
out  his  career,  the  fortunes  of  Demetrius  were  completely 


MY  FAITH.  69 

restored,  and  he  was  enabled  to  settle  his  running  account 
with  those  who  had  proved  so  treacherous  in  his  adversity. 
I  return  here  to  the  narration  of  Eollin  :  — 

"  Athens,  as  we  have  already  observed,  had  revolted  from  Deme 
trius,  and  shut  her  gates  against  him.  But,  when  that  prince 
thought  he  had  sufficiently  provided  for  the  security  of  his  terri 
tories  in  Asia,  he  moved  against  that  rebellious  and  ungrateful^ 
city,  with  a  resolution  to  punish  her  as  she  deserved.  The  first 
year  was  devoted  to  the  conquest  of  the  Messenians,  and  of  some 
other  cities  which  had  quitted  his  party  ;  but  he  returned  the  next 
season  to  Athens,  which  he  closed,  blocked  up,  and  reduced  to  the 
last  extremity,  by  cutting  off  all  influx  of  provisions.  A  fleet  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  sail,  sent  by  King  Ptolemy  to  succor  the  Athen 
ians,  and  which  appeared  off  the  coast  of  J^gina,  afforded  them  but 
a  transient  joy ;  for,  when  this  naval  force  saw  a  strong  fleet  arrive 
from  Peloponnesus  to  the  assistance  of  Demetrius,  besides  a  great 
number  of  other  vessels  from  Cyprus,  and  that  the  whole  amounted 
to  three  hundred,  they  weighed  anchor  and  fled. 

"  Although  the  Athenians  had  issued  a  decree  by  which  they 
made  it  a  capital  offence  for  any  person  even  to  mention  a  peace 
w^ith  Demetrius,  the  extremity  to  which  they  were  reduced  obliged 
them  to  open  their  gates  to  him.  When  he  entered  the  city,  he 
commanded  the  inhabitants  to  assemble  in  the  theatre,  which  he 
surrounded  with  armed  troops,  and  posted  his  guards  on  either 
side  of  the  stage  where  the  dramatic  pieces  were  wont  to  be  per 
formed  ;  and  then,  descending  from  the  upper  part  of  the  theatre, 
in  the  manner  usual  with  actors,  he  showed  himself  to  the  multi 
tude,  who  seemed  more  dead  than  alive,  and  awaited  the  event  in 
inexpressible  terror,  expecting  it  would  prove  their  sentence  to 
destruction ;  but  he  dissipated  their  apprehensions  by  the  first 
words  he  uttered  :  for  he  did  not  raise  his  voice  like  a  man  enraged, 
nor  deliver  himself  in  any  passionate  or  insulting  terms ;  but 
softened  the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  only  addressed  to  them  gentle 
complaints  and  amicable  expostulations.  He  pardoned  their  offence 
and  restored  them  to  his  favor,  —  presenting  them,  at  the  same 
time,  with  100,000  measures  of  corn  [wheat],  and  reinstating  such 
magistrates  as  were  most  agreeable  to  them.  The  joy  of  this 
people  may  be  easily  conceived  from  the  terrors  with  which  they 
were  previously  affected ;  and  how  glorious  must  that  prince  be 
who  could  ahvays  support  so  admirable  a  character !  " 


70  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Reflecting  with  admiration  on  this  exhibition  of  a  mamia- 

O  O 

nimity  too  rare  in  human  annals,  I  was  moved  to  inquire  if  a 
spirit  so  nobly,  so  wisely,  transcending  the  mean  and  savage 
impulse  which  man  too  often  disguises  as  justice,  when  it  is 
in  essence  revenge,  might  not  be  reverently  termed  Divine ; 
and  the  firm  conclusion  to  which  I  was  finally  led,  imported 
that  the  old  Greek's  treatment  of  vanquished  rebels  or  pros 
trate  enemies  must  forcibly  image  and  body  forth  that  of  the 
"  King  immortal,  invisible,  and  only  wise  God." 
w  When  I  reached  this  conclusion,  I  had  never  seen  one  who 
was  called,  or  who  called  himself,  a  Universalist ;  and  I  neither 
saw  one,  nor  read  a  page  of  any  one's  writings,  for  years  there 
after.  I  had  only  heard  that  there  were  a  few  graceless  repro 
bates  and  scurvy  outcasts,  who  pretended  to  believe  that  all 
men  would  be  saved,  and  to  wrench  the  Scriptures  into  some 
sort  of  conformity  to  their  mockery  of  a  creed.  I  had  read 
the  Bible  through,  much  of  it  repeatedly,  but  when  quite 
too  infantile  to  form  any  coherent,  definite  synopsis  of  the 
doctrines  I  presumed  to  be  taught  therein.  But,  soon  after 
entering  a  printing-office,  I  procured  exchanges  with  several 
Universalist  periodicals,  and  was  thenceforth  familiar  with 
their  methods  of  interpretation  and  of  .argument;  though  I 
first  heard  a  sermon  preached  by  one  of  this  school  while 
passing  through  Buffalo,  about  1830  ;  and  I  was  acquainted 
with  no  society,  and  no  preacher,  of  this  faith,  prior  to  my 
arrival  in  New  York  in  August,  1831 ;  when  I  made  my  way, 
on  the  first  Sunday  morning  of  my  sojourn,  to  the  little  chapel 
in  Grand  Street,  near  Pitt, —  about  the  size  of  an  average 
country  school-house, —  where  Rev.  Thomas  J.  Sawyer,  then 
quite  young,  ministered  to  a  congregation  of,  perhaps,  a 
hundred  souls ;  to  which  congregation  I  soon  afterward 
attached  myself:  remaining  a  member  of  it  until  he  left 
the  city. 

I  am  not,  therefore,  to  be  classed  with  those  who  claim  to 
have  been  converted  from  one  creed  to  another  by  studying 
the  Bible  alone.  Certainly,  upon  re-reading  that  book  in  the 
light  of  my  new  convictions,  I  found  therein  abundant  proof 


MY  FAITH.  71 

of  their  correctness  in  the  averments  of  patriarchs,*  prophets,! 
apostles,  $  and  of  the  Messiah  §  himself.  But  not  so  much  in. 
particular  passages,  however  pertinent  and  decisive,  as  in  the 
spirit  and  general  scope  of  the  Gospel,—  so  happily  blending 
inexorable  punishment  for  every  offence  with  unfailing  pity 
and  ultimate  forgiveness  for  the  chastened  transgressor,  —  thus 
saving  sinners  from  sin  by  leading  them,  through  suffering,  to 
loathe  and  forsake  it ;  and  in  laying  down  its  Golden  Rule, 
which,  if  of  universal  application,  (and  why  not  ?)  must  be 
utterly  inconsistent  with  the  infliction  of  infinite  and  unending 
torture  as  the  penalty  of  transient,  and  often  ignorant,  offend 
ing,  did  I  find  ample  warrant  for  my  hope  and  trust  that  all 
suffering  is  disciplinary  and  transitional,  and  shall  ultimately 
result  in  universal  holiness  and  consequent  happiness. 

In  the  light  of  this  faith,  the  dark  problem  of  Evil  is  irra 
diated,  and  virtually  solved.  "Perfect  through  suffering" 
was  the  way  traced  out  for  the  great  Captain  of  our  salvation  : 
then  why  not  for  all  the  children  of  Adam  ?  To  say  that 
temporary  affliction  is  as  difficult  to  reconcile  with  Divine 
goodness  as  eternal  agony  is  to  defy  reason  and  insult  common 
sense.  The  history  of  Joseph's  perfidious  sale  into  slavery  by 
his  brethren,  and  the  Divine  overruling  ||  of  that  crime  into  a 
means  of  vast  and  permanent  blessing  to  the  entire  family  of 
Jacob,  is  directly  in  point.  Once  conceive  that  an  Omniscient 
Beneficence  presides  over  and  directs  the  entire  course  of 
human  affairs,  leading  ever  onward  and  upward  to  universal 
purity  and  bliss,  and  all  evil  becomes  phenomenal  and  pre 
parative,  —  a  mere  curtain  or  passing  cloud,  which  hides  for  a 
moment  the  light  of  the  celestial  and  eternal  day. 

I  am  not  wise  enough,  even  in  my  own  conceit,  to  assume 
to  say  where  and  when  the  deliverance  of  our  race  from  evil 
and  suffering  shall  be  consummated.  Perceiving  that  many 

*  Gen.  iii.  15;  xii.  3. 
t  Isa.  xxv.  8;  xlv.  23-25. 

J  Rom.  v.  12-21  ;  viii.  19-21;  1  Cor.  xv.  42 - 54 ;  Eph.  i.  8-10;  Col.  i. 
19-21  ;  1  Tim.  ii.  3-6. 

§  Matt.  xv.  13 ;  John  xii.  32. 
II  Gen.  xlv.  5-8. 


72  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

leave  this  stage  of  being  depraved  and  impenitent,  I  cannot 
believe  that  they  will  be  transformed  into  angels  of  purity  by 
the  intervention  of  a  circumstance  so  purely  physical  and 
involuntary  as  death.  Holding  that  the  government  of  God 
is  everywhere  and  always  perfect  (however  inadequate  may 
be  our  comprehension  of  it),  I  infer  that,  alike  in  all  worlds, 
men  will  be  chastised  whenever  they  shall  need  to  be,  and 
that  neither  by  suicide,  nor  any  other  device,  can  a  single 
individual  escape  the  penalty  of  his  evil-doing.  If  man  is 
punished  because  he  needs  to  be,  —  because  that  is  best  for 
him,  —  why  should  such  discipline  be  restricted  to  this  span 
of  life  ?  While  I  know  that  the  words  translated  hell,  eternal, 
&c.,  in  our  version  of  the  Bible,  bear  various  meanings  which 
the  translators  have  befogged,  —  giving  hell,  the  grave,  the  pit, 
&c.,  as  equivalents  of  the  one  Hebrew  term  that  signifies  the 
unseen  home  of  departed  souls,  —  and  while  I  am  sure  that 
the  luxuriant  metaphors  whereby  a  state  of  anguish  and  suffer 
ing  are  depicted  were  not  meant  to  be  taken  literally,  —  I  yet 
realize  that  human  iniquity  is  often  so  flagrant  and  enormous 
that  its  punishment,  to  be  just  and  efficient,  must  be  severe 
and  protracted.  How  or  where  it  will  be  inflicted  are  matters 
of  incident  and  circumstance,  not  of  principle  nor  of  primary 
consequence.  Enough  that  it  will  be  administered  by  One 
who  "  doth  not  willingly  *  [that  is,  wantonly]  afflict  nor  grieve 
the  children  of  men,"  but  because  their  own  highest  good 
demands  it,  and  would  be  prejudiced  by  his  withholding  it. 
But  I  do  not  dogmatize  nor  speculate.  I  rest  in  a  more  as 
sured  conviction  of  what  Tennyson  timidly,  yet  impressively, 
warbles,  in  mourning  the  death  of  his  beloved  friend  :  — 

"  O,  yet  we  trust  that,  somehow,  good  < 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood; 

"  That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet; 

That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 

*  Lam.  iii.  33. 


MY  FAITH.  73 

"  That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 

That  not  a  moth,  with  vain  desire, 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 
Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

"  Behold !  we  know  not  anything : 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 

At  last,  —  far  off,  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  Winter  change  to  Spring." 

Twenty  years  earlier,  Mrs.  Hemans,  when  on  the  brink  of 
the  angelic  life,  was  blest  with  a  gleam  from  within  the  celes 
tial  gates,  and,  in  almost  her  last  sonnet,  faintly  refracted  it 
as  follows :  — 

"  ON  RECORDS  OF  IMMATURE  GENIUS. 

"  O,  judge  in  thoughtful  tenderness  of  those 

Who,  richly  dowered  for  life,  are  called  to  die 
Ere  the  soul's  flame,  through  storms,  hath  won  repose 

In  truth's  divinest  ether,  still  and  high ! 

Let  their  minds'  riches  claim  a  trustful  sigh ; 
Deem  them  but  sad,  sweet  fragments  of  a  strain, 

First  notes  of  some  yet  struggling  harmony 
By  the  strong  rush,  the  crowding  joy  and  pain, 

Of  many  inspirations,  met  and  held 

From  its  true  sphere.     O,  soon  it  might  have  swelled 
Majestically  forth !     Nor  doubt  that  He 

Whose  touch  mysterious  may  on  earth  dissolve 

Those  links  of  music,  elsewhere  will  evolve 
Their  grand,  consummate  hymn,  from  passion-gusts  made  free !  " 

If  I  pronounce  timid  and  tentative  these  and  many  kindred 
utterances  of  modern  poets,  I  mean  only  that  the  great  truth, 
so  obscurely  hinted  by  one,  and  so  doubtingly  asserted  by  the 
other,  had  long  before  been  more  firmly  grasped,  and  more 
boldly  proclaimed,  by  seers  like  Milton  and  Pope,  and  has  in 
our  age  been  affirmed  and  systematically  elucidated  by  the 
calm,  cogent  reasoning  of  Ballon,  the  critical  research  of  Bal- 
four,  the  fervid  eloquence  of  Chapin,  and-  hundreds  beside 
them,  until  it  is  no  longer  a  feeble  hope,  a  trembling  aspira 
tion,  a  pleasing  hypothesis,  but  an  assured  and  joyful  convio-/ 
tion.  In  its  clear  daylight,  the  hideous  Inquisition,  and  all 
kindred  devices  for  torturing  heretics,  under  a  libellous  pre- 


74  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

tence  of  zeal  for  God,  shrink  and  cower  in  shame  and  terror ; 
the  revolting  gallows  hides  itself  from  public  view,  prelimi 
nary  to  its  utter  and  final  disappearance ;  and  man,  growing 
ashamed  of  all  cruelty  and  revenge,  deals  humanely  with  the 
outcast,  the  pauper,  the  criminal,  and  the  vanquished  foe. 
The  overthrow  of  a  rebellion  is  no  longer  the  signal  for 
sweeping  spoliation  and  massacre  ;  the  downfall  of  an  ancient 
tyranny  like  that  of  Naples  is  followed  by  no  butchery  of  its 
pertinacious  upholders ;  and  our  earth  begins  to  body  forth  and 
mirror  —  but  so  slowly,  so  faintly  !  —  the  merciful  doctrines 
of  the  meek  and  loving  Prince  of  Peace. 


Perhaps  I  ought  to  add,  that,  with  the  great  body  of  the 
Universalists  of  our  day  (who  herein  differ  from  the  earlier 
pioneers  in  America  of  our  faith),  I  believe  that  "  our  God 
is  one  Lord,"  -  —  that  "  though  there  be  that  are  called  gods, 
as  there  be  gods  many  and  lords  many,  to  us  there  is  but  one 
God,  the  Father,  of  whom  are  all  things,  one  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  by  whom  are  all  things " ;  *  and  I  find  the  relation 
between  the  Father  and  the  Saviour  of  mankind  most  fully 
and  clearly  set  forth  in  that  majestic  first  chapter  of  Hebrews, 
which  I  cannot  see  how  any  Trinitarian  can  ever  have  intently 
read,  without  perceiving  that  its  whole  tenor  and  burden  are 
directly  at  war  with  his  conception  of  "  three  persons  in  one 
God."  Nor  can  I  see  how  Paul's  express  assertion,  that  "  when 
all  things  shall  be  subdued  unto  him,  then  shall  the  Son  him 
self  also  be  subject  to  Him  that  put  all  things  under  him,  that 
God  may  be  all  in  all,"  f  is  to  be  reconciled  with  the  more 
popular  creed.  However,  I  war  not  upon  others'  convictions, 
but  rest  satisfied  with  a  simple  statement  of  my  own. 

*  1  Cor.  viii.  5,  6.  t  1  Cor.  xv.  28. 


X. 

A    YEAR   BY    LAKE    ERIE. 

WHEN  I  entered  Poultney,  an  aspirant  to  apprenticeship 
in  her  printing-office,  I  knew  no  one  of  her  citizens 
or  residents ;  when  I  left  that  place,  after  a  quiet  sojourn  of  a 
little  more  than  four  years,  I  parted  with  many  valued  friends, 
of  whom  all  who  survive  still,  I  trust,  remain  such.  I  have 
never  since  known  a  community  so  generally  moral,  intelli 
gent,  industrious,  and  friendly,  —  never  one  where  so  much 
good  was  known,  and  so  little  evil  said,  of  neighbor  by  neigh 
bor.  There  is  no  single  individual  among  the  many  whose 
acquaintance  I  formed  there,  of  whom  I  have  other  than  a 
kindly  remembrance ;  while  of  nearly  all  those  with  whom  I 
was  brought  into  immediate  contact  I  cherish  fervid  and 
grateful  recollections. 

The  two-story  wooden  house,  whence  our  Spectator  was 
issued,  still  stands  on  the  east  side  of  the  street  leading  from 
north  to  south,  a  few  rods  southeast  of  the  Baptist  meeting 
house,  near  the  centre  of  the  village  green ;  but  the  printing 
materials  were  packed  up  directly  after  I  left,  and  have  been 
sold  away,  —  I  know  not  whither.  No  single  number  of  a 
journal  has  been  issued  from  that  town  since  I  left  it  in 
June,  1830. 

A  friend  of  like  years  accompanied  me  thence  by  wagon  to 
Comstock's  Landing,  on  the  Champlain  Canal,  where  we 
waited,  scarcely  twelve  miles  from  Poultney,  through  a  dreary 
day  of  pelting  rain,  for  a  line-boat  from  Whitehall,  whereon 
we  crept  snail-like  to  Troy,  and  thence,  by  another  such  con 
veyance,  to  Buffalo ;  though  my  friend  stopped  to  look  about 


76  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

him  not  far  westward  of  Eochester.  I  kept  on  by  steamboat 
on  Lake  Erie  to  Dunkirk,  and  thence  diagonally  across  Chau- 
tauqua  County  to  my  father's  in  Pennsylvania. 

I  think  it  was  on  this  visit  that  I  made  my  best  day's  walk, 

-  from  Fredonia,  through  Mayville  and  Mina,  to  my  father's, 

which  can  hardly  be  less  than  forty  miles  now,  and  by  the 

zigzags  we  then  made  must  have  been  considerably  farther. 

I  have  known  my  father  to  walk  fifty-two  miles  in  a  day, 

that  is,  betwixt  morning  and  midnight,  —  and  I  had  made 
thirty-six  miles  per  day  (from  Salem,  Washington  County, 
N.  Y.,  to  Westhaven)  before  I  was  fifteen  years  old ;  but  I 
caught  a  horseback  ride  for  several  miles  of  the  distance.  I 
estimated  the  route  I  travelled  from  Fredonia  to  Wayne  at 
forty-five  miles  of  bad  road,  equal  to  fifty  of  good.  He  who 
will  measure  his  walk  by  mile-stones,  as  I  have  done,  will 
discover  that  lively  and  persistent  stepping,  with  no  stopping 
to  chase  butterflies,  is  required  to  make  four  miles  per  hour. 
I  have  done  this  on  the  tow-path  of  the  Delaware  and  Karitan 
Canal  >  but  the  sweat  started  freely  pretty  early  in  the  second 
mile.  Beginning  at  twenty-five  miles  per  day,  walking  slowly, 
but  keeping  pretty  constantly  in  motion,  you  may  add  two  to 
three  miles  per  day,  till  you  have  reached  forty ;  all  above 
that,  I  judge,  must,  for  most  persons,  involve  exhaustive 
fatigue.  I  once  walked  across  a  corner  of  Chautauqua  Lake 
when  it  was  freshly  frozen,  and  learned  that  walking  on 
smooth  ice,  no  matter  how  firm  and  assured  your  tread,  will 
start  the  sweat  on  the  coldest  day,  though  you  have  been  quite 
cool  enough  while  walking  on  hard,  frozen  ground. 

The  railroads  have  nearly  killed  pedestrianism,  and  I  regret 
it.  Days  of  steady,  solitary  walking  I  have  found  most  favor 
able  to  patient  meditation.  To  study  Nature  profitably,  you 
must  be  left  alone  with  her,  —  she  does  not  unveil  herself  to 
babbling,  shouting  crowds.  A  walk  of  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  in  a  calm,  clear  October,  is  one  of  the  cheap  and  whole 
some  luxuries  of  life,  as  free  to  the  poor  as  the  rich.  I  do 
not  regard  the  modern  student  plan  of  tramping  and  camping, 
ten  to  twenty  in  a  mess,  as  its  fair  equivalent.  A  solitary 


A    YEAR  BY  LAKE  ERIE.  77 

walk  of  day  after  day  is  inevitably  sober,  quiet,  thoughtful ; 
and  the  weary  pedestrian  washes  his  feverish  feet  and  drops 
asleep  very  soon  after  he  has  halted  at  night.  An  encamp 
ment  of  several  pedestrians,  whether  in  tent  or  tavern,  is  prone 
to  stories,  songs,  games,  feasting,  drinking,  and  often  to  bois 
terous  hilarity,  whereby  rest  is  postponed  or  sacrificed,  and 
health  imperilled.  Of  course,  these  evils  are  often  shunned 
or  repelled;  yet  I  would  advise  the  young  pedestrian,  who 
seeks  mainly  enjoyment,  to  travel  with  a  single,  well-chosen 
friend;  if  his  aim  be  meditation  and  self-improvement,  let 
him  swing  his  pack  and  step  off  entirely  alone. 

I  was  once  travelling  in  the  company  of  a  chance  companion, 
whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  have  not  seen  since,  —  a 
man  of  perhaps  forty  years,  —  when  our  route  led  us  through 
the  village  of  Mayville,  Chautauqua  County,  N.  Y.  We  were 
in  doubt  as  to  our  road  beyond  that  village,  and  civilly  in 
quired  our  way  of  a  thrifty  citizen  whom  we  met.  He  looked 
us  well  over,  and,  seeing  that  we  were  evidently  of  no  account, 
vouchsafed  us  never  a  word  of  reply,  but  passed  us  in  utter 
silence.  We,  too,  walked  on  without  remark,  until,  at  length, 
my  companion  broke  the  stillness  with  the  abrupt  observation  : 

"  I  am  glad  I  have  got  to  die  some  time." 

I  did  not  see  the  point,  and  looked  inquiry. 

"  Because,"  he  resumed,  "  that  man  has  got  to  die  just  the 
same  as  I  have." 

I  saw. 

On  my  first  visit  to  my  father's  forest  home,  I  had  entered 
the  little  hamlet  termed  Clymer,  —  then  of  four  or  five  very 
new  houses, — just  at  dusk  of  a  Saturday  night,  when  I  learned 
that  the  log-cabin  I  sought  was  three  miles  away  in  a  south 
westerly  course.  "  But  you  can't  make  your  way  to  it  to 
night,"  I  was  very  properly  advised.  I  tried  to  hire  some  one 
to  guide  me,  but  without  success ;  there  was  no  tavern  to  stay 
at;  so  I  took  the  track  pointed  out,  and  plunged  into  the 
darkening  woods.  Half  a  mile  on,  the  cart-tracks  diverged; 
and  I  took  the  more  easterly  and  wrong  one.  I  went  on  till 
I  found  a  log-cabin  tenanted  by  a  mother  and  her  children, 


78  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

who  responded  to  my  inquiries  that  they  knew  the  way  to 
Zack  Greeley's  quite  well,  but  that  it  was  two  miles  off, 
through  dense  woods,  away  from  any  road,  and  could  not  be 
reached  that  night,  especially  as  the  two  intervening  cabins 
stood  tenantless,  —  their  usual  occupants  having  gone  off  to 
work  on  the  Pennsylvania  State  Canal,  then  being  dug  in  the 
vicinity  of  Meadville.  I  was  pressed  to  stay  here  till  morn 
ing,  and  —  there  being  no  practicable  alternative  —  consented. 
The  house  was  quite  new,  consisting  of  a  single  room,  some 
twenty  by  sixteen  feet,  and  the  logs  of  which  it  was  built 
were  still  so  green  that  the  fire  was  made  close  to  one  side, 
on  the  bare  earth,  with  no  fireplace  and  no  chimney  save  a 
hole  through  the  bark-covered  roof.  The  man  of  the  house 
soon  came  home,  and  we  all  slept  sweetly  till  morning,  when 
I  made  my  way  to  my  destination. 

The  cabin  which  my  father  had  bought  with  his  land  was 
a  little  better  than  that  I  have  just  described,  but  nothing  to 
brag  of.  My  mother  —  born  half  a  century  after  the  log-cabin 
stage  of  Londonderry  —  could  never  be  reconciled  to  this,  nor 
to  either  of  the  two  rather  better  ones  that  the  family  tenanted 
before  it  emerged  into  a  poor  sort  of  framed  house.  In  fact, 
she  had  plunged  into  the  primitive  forest  too  late  in  life,  and 
never  became  reconciled  to  the  pioneer's  inevitable  discom 
forts.  The  chimney  of  the  best  log-house,  she  insisted,  would 
smoke ;  and  its  roof,  in  a  driving,  drenching  rain,  would  leak, 
do  what  you  might.  I  think  the  shadow  of  the  great  woods 
oppressed  her  from  the  hour  she  first  entered  them ;  and, 
though  removed  but  two  generations  from  pioneer  ancestors, 
she  was  never  reconciled  to  what  the  less  roughly  bred  must 
always  deem  privations  and  hardships.  I  never  caught  the 
old  smile  on  her  face,  the  familiar  gladness  in  her  mood,  the 
hearty  joyfulness  in  her  manner,  from  the  day  she  entered 
those  woods  until  that  of  her  death,  nearly  thirty  years  later, 
in  August,  1855.  Though  not  yet  sixty-eight,  she  had  for 
years  been  worn  out  by  hard  work,  and  broken  down  in  mind 
and  body.  Those  who  knew  her  only  in  her  later  years,  when 
toil  and  trouble  had  gained  the  victory  over  her,  never  truly 
knew  her  at  all. 


A   YEAR  BY  LAKE  ERIE.  79 

My  father  had  for  many  years  —  perhaps  from  boyhood  — 
fixed  his  affections  on  Western  Pennsylvania  as  his  ultimate 
home ;  and  the  region  to  which  his  footsteps  were  at  length 
directed  is  essentially  a  good  one.  Situated  on  high,  moder 
ately  rolling  land,  just  across  the  line  from  Clymer,  Chau- 
tauqua  County,  N.  Y.,  in  Erie  County,  Pa.,  two  miles  from  the 
line  of  Warren  County,  the  region  is  healthy  and  the  soil 
strong,  though  better  adapted  to  grass  than  to  grain.  He 
never  wished  to  move  again.  Still,  it  was  a  mistake,  at  his 
time  of  life,  to  plunge  so  deep  into  the  primitive  forest.  The 
giant  timber  —  Beech,  Maple,  Hemlock,  Elm,  Ash,  Basswood, 
&c.  —  yielded  very  slowly  to  his  axe ;  he  and  my  brother 
were  often  a  full  Winter  month  in  chopping  off  an  acre ;  and 
logging  up  and  burning  made  another  serious  job ;  still  leaving 
the  soil  cold  with  green  roots,  and  deformed  by  an  eruption 
of  stumps,  which  must  be  allowed  years  wherein  to  rot  out. 
A  wealthy  pioneer,  w^ho  can  pay  for  slashing  or  winrowing 
forty  to  eighty  acres  at  once  of  timber  when  in  full  leaf,  and 
can  afford  to  let  it  lie  untouched  for  a  full  year  (better  still, 
two  years),  and  then  put  fire  into  it  when  favored  by  a  dry 
spell  and  a  good  breeze,  then  log  off  and  put  it  into  grain 
forthwith,  may  clear  at  a  third  of  the  cost  to,  and  have  his  land 
in  far  better  condition  than  the  poor  settler,  who  must  burn 
up  his  timber  green,  because  he  needs  the  land  to  till,  and 
cannot  afford  to  lay  out  of  the  fruits  of  his  labor  for  years. 
Thus,  a  poor  man  hews  a  farm  out  of  the  great  woods  at  more 
than  twice  the  proper  cost,  and  injures  the  soil  by  the  pro 
cess.  I  presume  my  folks  gave  two  thousand  days'  work  to 
gathering  ashes  from  their  burned  log-heaps,  and  leaching 
them  into  "  Black  Salts  "  (the  base  of  Pot  and  Pearl  Ashes), 
because  they  must  have  wherewith  to  pay  store-bills,  though 
the  product  did  not  give  fifty  cents'  return  for  each  fair  day's 
work,  and  the  removal  of  the  ashes  impoverished  the  soil  by 
more  than  they  brought.  But  the  crops  grown  among  green 
roots,  in  a  small  excavation  from  a  vast,  tall  forest,  are  pre 
carious  and  scanty  at  best,  being  preyed  upon  by  pigeons  in 
myriads,  and  by  all  manner  of  four-footed  beasts ;  and  the 


80  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

pioneer's  family  must  somehow  live  while  he  slowly  trans 
forms  the  stubborn  wilderness  into  fruitful  fields  and  orchards. 


After  spending  some  weeks  at  home,  I  sought  work  at  my 
trade  in  various  directions :  finding  a  little  first  at  Jamestown, 
N.  Y.,  and,  after  an  interval,  more  at  Lodi  (now  Gowanda), 
Cattaraugus  County,  where  I  received  $11  per  month  for  six 
weeks ;  but  my  employer  could  afford  to  hire  a  journeyman 
no  longer;  and  I  thence  walked  home  across  Chautauqua 
County,  about  January  1,  1831,  and  remained  a  full  month 
—  a  bitter  cold  one  —  chopping  with  my  father  and  brother, 
but  not  very  efficiently  nor  satisfactorily.  Fully  convinced 
that  the  life  of  a  pioneer  was  one  to  which  I  was  poorly 
adapted,  I  made  one  more  effort  to  resume  my  chosen  calling. 
Having  already  exhausted  the  possibilities  in  the  printing 
line  of  Chautauqua  County,  I  now  visited  Erie,  Pa.,  where  I 
found  work  in  the  office  of  The  Erie  Gazette,  and  was  retained 
at  $  1 5  per  month  well  into  the  ensuing  summer. 

This  was  the  first  newspaper  whereon  I  was  employed  that 
made  any  money  for  its  owner,  and  thus  had  a  pecuniary 
value.  It  had  been  started  twenty  years  or  so  before,  when 
borough  and  county  were  both  thinly  peopled,  almost  wholly 
by  poor  young  men,  and  it  had  grown  with  the  vicinage  until 
it  had  a  substantial,  profitable  patronage.  Its  proprietor,  Mr. 
Joseph  M.  Sterrett,  now  in  the  prime  of  life,  had  begun  on  The 
Gazette  as  a  boy,  and  grown  up  with  it  into  general  considera 
tion  and  esteem ;  his  journeymen  and  apprentices  boarded  at 
his  house,  as  was  fit ;  and  I  spent  here  five  months  industri 
ously  and  agreeably.  Though  still  a  raw  youth  of  twenty 
years,  and  knowing  no  one  in  the  borough  when  I  thus  entered 
it,  I  made  acquaintances  there  who  are  still  valued  friends ; 
and,  before  I  left,  I  was  offered  a  partnership  in  the  concern ; 
which,  though  I  had  reasons  for  declining,  was  none  the  less 
flattering  as  a  mark  of  appreciation  and  confidence.  Mr. 
Sterrett  has  since  represented  his  district  acceptably  in  the 
Senate  of  Pennsylvania,  has  received  other  proofs  of  the  trust- 


A   YEAR  BY  LAKE  ERIE.  81 

ful  regard  of  his  fellow-citizens ;  and,  though  he  has  retired 
from  The  Gazette,  still  lives  in  the  enjoyment  of  competence 
and  general  esteem. 

Erie  dwells  in  my  memory  as  a  place  which  started  with 
too  sanguine  expectations,  and  was  thus  exposed  to  a  sudden 
check,  from  which  it  has  never  fully  recovered.  From  time 
to  time,  its  early  dreams  of  greatness  have  been  revived  by  a 
State  canal,  by  railroads,  by  coal-mines,  and  at  length  by  the 
oil  developments  of  the  Titusville  region  not  far  south  of  it ; 
but  they  have  never  been  fully  realized.  It  was  rather  a 
busy  borough  for  its  size  in  1831 ;  it  is  much  larger  and  more 
important  now ;  yet  it  has  seen  Buffalo,  Cleveland,  Toledo,  on 
either  side,  rise  above  it  like  meteors,  and  not  merely  achieve 
a  preeminence,  but  retain  it.  I  fancy  it  must  have  ceased 
even  to  dream  of  coming  grandeur  by  this  time. 

The  quality  for  which  its  people  were  most  remarkable  in 
1831  was  an  intense  addiction  to  partisan  strife.  An  ardent 
politician  from  childhood,  I  was  fairly  appalled  by  the  assidu 
ity  and  vehemence  wherewith  political  controversy  was  prose 
cuted  by  nearly  every  man  and  boy  I  met  in  Erie.  I  have 
seen  individual  politicians  elsewhere  who  could  never  set  eyes 
on  a  stranger  without  mentally  measuring  up  the  feet  and 
inches  of  party  capital  that  might  be  made  out  of  him ;  but 
politics  in  Erie  seemed  the  universal  and  engrossing  topic,  to 
an  extent  and  in  a  degree  I  have  never  known  paralleled. 
Possibly,  however,  there  was  a  temporary  frenzy  on  the  sub 
ject  while  I  stayed  there,  from  which  her  people  have  long 
since  recovered.  At  all  events,  I  will  hope  so. 


At  length,  work  failed  at  The  Gazette  office,  and  I  was  con 
strained  to  take  a  fresh  departure.  No  printing-office  in  all 
that  region  wanted  a  journeyman.  The  West  seemed  to  be 
laboring  under  a  surfeit  of  printers.  One  was  advertised  for 
to  take  charge  of  a  journal  at  Wilkesbarre,  Pa.,  and  I  applied 
for  the  place,  but  failed  to  secure  it.  I  would  gladly  have 
given  faithful  labor  at  case  and  press  through  some  years  yet 
6 


82  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

for  $  15  per  month  and  board,  or  even  less  ;  but  it  was  not  to 
be  had.  So,  upon  full  consideration,  I  decided  to  turn  my 
steps  toward  the  Commercial  Emporium,  while  still  consider 
ably  younger  than  I  would  have  preferred  to  be  on  making 
such  a  venture.  Paying  a  parting  visit  to  my  father's,  under 
the  reasonable  expectation  that  my  next  absence  would  be  a 
long  one,  I  divided  with  him  my  Erie  earnings,  and,  with  $25 
in  my  pocket,  and  very  little  extra  clothing  in  my  bundle,  I 
set  my  face  toward  New  York. 

It  was  now  midsummer,  —  dry  and  hot.  I  had  but  one 
friend  on  my  rather  long  route,  and  I  resolved  to  pay  him  a 
visit.  He  lived  at  Gaines,  nearly  forty  miles  westward  of 
Eochester ;  and  I  traversed  on  foot  the  dusty  "  ridge  road " 
eastward  from  Lockport  the  day  before  I  reached  him.  That 
day  was  quite  hot,  and  the  water  I  was  incessantly  compelled 
to  drink  seemed  very  hard ;  by  nightfall,  I  fancied  that  it  had 
covered  my  mouth  and  throat  with  a  scale  like  that  often 
found  incrusting  a  long-used  tea-kettle.  The  region  was 
gently  rolling  and  very  fertile;  but  I  should  have  more 
enjoyed  a  saunter  over  New  England  hills  and  rocks,  sweet 
ened  by  draughts  from  New  England  wells  and  springs. 

It  was  Saturday  night  when  I  reached  my  friend,  and  I 
remained  with  him  till  Sunday  afternoon,  when  we  walked 
down  to  the  canal,  and  waited  long  for  a  boat.  None  came 
till  after  nightfall,  when  I  dismissed  my  friend,  confident  that 
a  boat  must  soon  appear.  After  waiting  in  vain  till  near 
midnight,  I  started  down  the  tow-path,  and  walked  through 
the  pitchy  darkness  to  Brockport,  some  fifteen  miles.  Re 
peatedly,  the  head-light  of  a  boat  moving  westward  came  in 
sight,  when  I  was  obliged  to  plunge  down  the  often  rugged, 
briery,  off-bank  of  the  tow-path,  to  avoid  being  caught  by  the 
tow-line  and  hauled  into  the  not  quite  transparent  and  nowise 
inviting  "  drink."  Though  the  almanac  made  that  night  short, 
it  seemed  to  me  quite  long ;  and  I  very  gladly  hailed  and 
boarded  at  Brockport  a  line-boat  heading  eastward.  My 
sleepy  tendencies  amused  my  fellow-passengers  thence  to 
Rochester,  to  whom  "  sparking  Sunday  night "  afforded  a 
ready  and  natural  explanation. 


XI. 

MY  FIRST   EXPERIENCES  IN  NEW  YORK. 

T)  EACHING  Schenectady  from  Buffalo  by  line-boat,  — 
Xv  my  sixth  and  last  journey  on  " the  raging  canal," —  I 
debarked  about  6  P.  M.,  and  took  the  turnpike  for  Albany.  I 
think  a  railroad  between  the  two  cities  first  and  last  named 
was  completed  soon  afterward ;  but  I  believe  not  a  mile  of 
iron  track  was  then  operated  in  the  State,  if  (in  fact)  anywhere 
in  America,  save  the  little  affair  constructed  to  freight  granite 
from  the  quarry  at  Quincy,  Mass.,  to  Boston.  Night  fell  when 
I  was  about  half-way  over ;  so  I  sought  rest  in  one  of  the 
many  indifferent  taverns  that  then  lined  the  turnpike  in  ques 
tion,  and  was  directed  to  sleep  in  an  ante-room  through  which 
people  were  momently  passing ;  I  declined,  and,  gathering  up 
my  handful  of  portables,  walked  on.  Half  a  mile  farther,  I 
found  another  tavern,  not  quite  so  inhospitable,  and  managed 
to  stay  in  it  till  morning ;  when  I  rose  and  walked  on  to 
Albany.  Having  never  been  in  that  city  before,  I  missed  the 
nearest  way  to  the  day-boat,  and  when  I  reached  the  landing 
it  was  two  or  three  lengths  on  its  way  to  New  York,  having 
left  at  7  A.  M.  I  had  no  choice  but  to  wait  for  another,  which 
started  at  10  A.  M.,  towing  a  barge  on  either  side,  and  reached, 
in  twenty  hours,  the  emporium,  where  I,  after  a  good  view  of 
the  city  as  we  passed  it  down  the  river,  was  landed  near 
Whitehall  at  6  A.  M. 

New  York  was  then  about  one  third  of  her  present  size ;  but 
her  business  was  not  one  fourth  so  great  as  now  ;  and  her  real 
size  —  counting  her  suburbs,  and  considering  the  tens  of 
thousands  who  find  employment  in  and  earn  subsistence  here, 


84  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

though  sleeping  outside  of  her  chartered  limits  —  was  not  one 
fifth  that  of  1867.  No  single  railroad  pointed  toward  her 
wharves.  No  line  of  ocean  steamers  brought  passengers  to 
her  hotels,  nor  goods  to  her  warehouses,  from  any  foreign  port. 
In  the  mercantile  world,  her  relative  rank  was  higher,  but  her 
absolute  importance  was  scarcely  greater,  than  that  of  Rio 
Janeiro  or  San  Francisco  is  to-day.  Still,  to  my  eyes,  which 
had  never  till  yesterday  gazed  on  a  city  of  even  20,000  in 
habitants,  nor  seen  a  sea-going  vessel,  her  miles  square  of 
mainly  brick  or  stone  houses,  and  her  furlongs  of  masts  and 
yards,  afforded  ample  incitement  to  a  wonder  and  admiration 
akin  to  awe. 

It  was,  if  I  recollect  aright,  the  17th  of  August,  1831.  I 
was  twenty  years  old  the  preceding  February ;  tall,  slender, 
pale,  and  plain,  with  ten  dollars  in  my  pocket,  Summer  cloth 
ing  worth  perhaps  as  much  more,  nearly  all  on  my  back,  and 
a  decent  knowledge  of  so  much  of  the  art  of  printing  as  a  boy 
will  usually  learn  in  the  office  of  a  country  newspaper.  But 
I  knew  no  human  being  within  two  hundred  miles,  and  my 
unmistakably  rustic  manner  and  address  did  not  favor  that 
immediate  command  of  remunerating  employment  which  was 
my  most  urgent  need.  However,  the  world  was  all  before 
me  ;  my  personal  estate,  tied  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  did 
not  at  all  encumber  me ;  and  I  stepped  lightly  off  the  boat, 
and  away  from  the  detested  hiss  of  escaping  steam,  walking 
into  and  up  Broad  Street  in  quest  of  a  boarding-house.  I 
found  and  entered  one  at  or  near  the  corner  of  Wall ;  but  the 
price  of  board  given  me  was  $  6  per  week ;  so  I  did  not  need 
the  giver's  candidly  kind  suggestion  that  I  would  probably 
prefer  one  where  the  charge  was  more  moderate.  Wandering 
thence,  I  cannot  say  how,  to  the  North  River  side,  I  halted 
next  at  168  West  Street,  where  the  sign  of  "Boarding"  on  a 
humbler  edifice  fixed  my  attention.  I  entered,  and  was 
offered  shelter  and  subsistence  at  $2.50  per  week,  which 
seemed  more  rational,  and  I  closed  the  bargain. 

My  host  was  Mr.  Edward  McGolrick ;  his  place  quite  as 
much  grog-shop  as  boarding-house ;  but  it  was  quietly,  decently 


MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  NEW  YORK.  85 

kept  while  I  stayed  in  it,  and  he  and  his  family  were  kind 
and  friendly.  I  regret  to  add  that  liquor  proved  his  ruin  not 
many  years  afterward.  My  first  day  in  New  York  was  a 
Friday,  and,  the  family  being  Eoman  Catholic,  no  meat  was 
eaten  or  provided,  which  I  understood ;  but  when  Sunday 
evening  was  celebrated  by  unlimited  card-playing  in  that 
same  house,  my  traditions  were  decidedly  jarred.  I  do  not 
imply  that  my  observances  were  better  or  worse  than  my 
host's,  but  that  they  were  different. 

Having  breakfasted,  I  began  to  ransack  the  city  for  work, 
and,  in  my  total  ignorance,  traversed  many  streets  where  none 
could  possibly  be  found.  In  the  course  of  that  day  and  the 
next,  however,  I  must  have  visited  fully  two  thirds  of  the 
printing-offices  on  Manhattan  Island,  without  a  gleam  of  suc 
cess.  It  was  midsummer,  when  business  in  New  York  is 
habitually  dull;  and  my  youth,  and  unquestionable  air  of 
country  greenness,  must  have  told  against  me.  When  I  called 
at  The  Journal  of  Commerce,  its  editor,  Mr.  David  Hale,  bluntly 
told  me  I  was  a  runaway  apprentice  from  some  country  office  ; 
which  was  a  very  natural,  though  mistaken,  presumption.  I 
returned  to  my  lodging  on  Saturday  evening,  thoroughly 
weary,  disheartened,  disgusted  with  New  York,  and  resolved 
to  shake  its  dust  from  my  feet  next  Monday  morning,  while 
I  could  still  leave  with  money  in  my  pocket,  and  before  its 
almshouse  could  foreclose  upon  me. 

But  that  was  not  to  be.  On  Sunday  afternoon  and  even 
ing  several  young  Irishmen  called  at  McGolrick's,  in  their 
holiday  saunterings  about  town ;  and,  being  told  that  I  was  a 
young  printer  in  quest  of  work,  interested  themselves  in  my 
effort,  with  the  spontaneous  kindness  of  their  race.  One 
among  them  happened  to  know  a  place  where  printers  were 
wanted,  and  gave  me  the  requisite  direction;  so  that,  on 
visiting  the  designated  spot  next  morning,  I  readily  found 
employment ;  and  thus,  when  barely  three  days  a  resident,  I 
had  found  anchorage  in  New  York. 

The  printing  establishment  was  John  T.  West's,  over 
McElrath  and  Bangs's  publishing-house,  85  Chatham  Street, 


86  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  L1PE. 

and  the  work  was  at  my  call  simply  because  no  printer  who 
knew  the  city  would  accept  it.  It  was  the  composition  of  a 
very  small  (32mo)  New  Testament,  in  double  columns,  of 
Agate  type,  each  column  barely  12  ems  wide,  with  a  centre 
column  of  notes  in  Pearl,  only  4  ems  wide ;  the  text  thickly 
studded  with  references  by  Greek  and  superior  letters  to  the, 
notes,  which  of  course  were  preceded  and  discriminated  by 
corresponding  indices,  with  prefatory  and  supplementary  re 
marks  on  each  Book,  set  in  Pearl,  and  only  paid  for  as  Agate. 
The  type  was  considerably  smaller  than  any  to  which  I  had 
been  accustomed ;  the  narrow  measure  and  thickly  sown  Italics 
of  the  text,  with  the  strange  characters  employed  as  indices, 
rendered  it  the  slowest,  and  by  far  the  most  difficult,  work  I 
had  ever  undertaken;  while  the  making  up,  proving,  and 
correcting  twice,  and  even  thrice  over,  preparatory  to  stereo 
typing,  nearly  doubled  the  time  required  for  ordinary  com 
position.  I  was  never  a  swift  type-setter ;  I  aimed  to  be  an 
assiduous  and  correct  one  ;  but  my  proofs  on  this  work  at  first 
looked  as  though  they  had  caught  the  chicken-pox,  and  were 
in  the  worst  stage  of  a  profuse  eruption.  For  the  first  two  or 
three  weeks,  being  sometimes  kept  waiting  for  letter,  I  scarcely 
made  my  board;  while,  by  diligent  type-sticking  through 
twelve  to  fourteen  hours  per  day,  I  was  able,  at  my  best,  to 
earn  but  five  to  six  dollars  per  week.  As  scarcely  another 
compositor  could  be  induced  to  work  on  it  more  than  two 
days,  I  had  this  job  in  good  part  to  myself;  and  I  persevered 
to  the  end  of  it.  I  had  removed,  very  soon  after  obtaining  it, 
to  Mrs.  Mason's  shoemaker  boarding-house  at  the  corner  of 
Chatham  and  Duane  Streets, .  nearly  opposite  my  work ;  so 
that  I  was  enabled  to  keep  doing  nearly  all  the  time  I  did  not 
need  for  meals  and  sleep.  When  it  was  done,  I  was  out  of 
work  for  a  fortnight,  in  spite  of  my  best  efforts  to  find  more ; 
so  I  attended,  as  an  unknown  spectator,  the  sittings  of  the 
Tariff  Convention,  which  was  held  at  the  American  Institute, 
north  end  of  the  City  Hall  Park,  and  presided  over  by  Hon. 
William  Wilkms,  of  Pittsburg,  Pa.  I  next  found  work  in 
Ann  Street,  on  a  short-lived  monthly,  where  my  pay  was  not 


MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  NEW   YORK.  87 

forthcoming ;  and  the  next  month  saw  me  back  at  West's, 
where  a  new  work  —  a  commentary  on  the  Book  of  Genesis, 
by  Kev.  George  Bush  —  had  come  in ;  and  I  worked  on  it 
throughout.  The  chirography  was  blind;  the  author  made 
many  vexatious  alterations  in  proof ;  the  page  was  small  and 
the  type  close ;  but,  though  the  reverse  of  fat,  in  printers' 
jargon,  it  was  not  nearly  so  abominably  lean  as  the  Testament ; 
and  I  regretted  to  reach  the  end  of  it.  When  I  did,  I  was 
again  out  of  work,  and  seriously  meditated  seeking  employ 
ment  at  something  else  than  printing ;  but  the  Winter  was  a 
hard  one,  and  business  in  New  York  stagnant  to  an  extent 
not  now  conceivable.  I  think  it  was  early  in  December,  when 
a  "  cold  snap  "  of  remarkable  severity  closed  the  Hudson,  and 
sent  up  the  price  of  coal  at  a  bound  to  $  16  per  ton,  while  the 
cost  of  other  necessaries  of  life  took  a  kindred  but  less  con 
siderable  elevation.  Our  city  stood  as  if  besieged  till  Spring 
relieved  her;  and  it  was  much  the  same  every  Winter. 
Mechanics  and  laborers  lived  awhile  on  the  scanty  savings  of 
the  preceding  Summer  and  Autumn ;  then  on  such  credit  as 
they  could  wring  from  grocers  and  landlords,  till  milder 
weather  brought  them  work  again.  The  earnings  of  good 
mechanics  did  not  average  $  8  per  week  in  1831  -  32,  while  they 
are  now  double  that  sum ;  and  living  is  not  twice  as  dear  as 
it  then  was.  Meat  may  possibly  be  ;  but  Bread  is  not ;  Fuel  is 
not ;  Clothing  is  not ;  while  travel  is  cheaper ;  and  our  little  cars 
have  enabled  working-men  to  live  two  or  three  miles  from 
their  work  without  serious  cost  or  inconvenience ;  thus  bring 
ing  Yorkville  or  Green  Point  practically  as  near  to  Maiden 
Lane  or  Broad  Street  as  Greenwich  or  the  Eleventh  Ward  was. 
Winter  is  relatively  dull  now,  but  not  nearly  so  stagnant  as 
it  formerly  was.  In  spite  of  an  inflated  currency  and  high 
taxes,  it  is  easier  now  for  a  working-man  to  earn  his  living  in 
New  York  than  it  was  thirty  to  forty  years  ago. 

About  the  1st  of  January,  1832,  I  found  employment  on 
The  Spirit  of  the  Times,  a  weekly  paper  devoted  to  sporting  in 
telligence,  then  started  by  Messrs.  William  T.  Porter  and  James 
Howe,  two  young  printers,  of  whom  the  former,  if  not  both, 


88  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

had  worked  with  me  at  West's  the  previous  Fall.  I  think  it 
was  a  little  after  midnight,  on  the  1st  of  January,  1832,  that 
we  compositors  delivered  the  forms  of  the  first  number  into 
the  hands  of  the  pressmen  in  an  upper  story  in  Fulton  Street. 
The  concern  migrated  to  Wall  Street  the  next  March,  finding 
a  location  very  near  the  present  site  of  the  Merchants'  Ex^ 
change ;  and  I  clung  to  it  through  the  ensuing  Spring  and 
Summer ;  its  foreman,  Francis  V.  Story,  being  nearly  of  my 
own  age,  and  thenceforth  my  devoted  friend.  But  the  founders 
and  editors  were  also  quite  young ;  they  were  inexperienced 
in  their  calling,  without  capital  or  influential  friends,  having 
recently  drifted  from  the  country  to  the  city  much  as  I  did ; 
and  their  paper  did  not  pay,  —  I  know  it  was  difficult  to  make 
it  pay  me,  —  especially  through  the  dreary  cholera  Summer  of 
1832.  The  disease  was  then  new  to  the  civilized  world,  while 
the  accounts  of  its  recent  ravages  in  the  far  East  were  calcu 
lated  to  appall  the  stoutest  heart ;  the  season  was  sultry,  the 
city  filthy,  and  the  water  we  drank  such  as  should  breed  a 
pestilence  at  any  time.  New  York  had  long  enjoyed  and 
deserved  the  reputation  of  having  worse  water  than  any  other 
city  of  its  size  on  earth ;  and  the  loose,  porous  sands  whereon 
it  was  built  rendered  this  fluid  more  and  more  detestable  as 
the  city  grew  larger  and  older.  I  am  glad  that  it  was  my 
privilege  to  vote  soon  afterward  for  the  introduction  of  the 
Croton,  which  I  did  right  heartily,  though  a  good  many  op 
posed  it  (some  of  them  voting  "  Brandy  ") ;  two  of  the  Wards, 
tenanted  mainly  by  poor  men,  giving  majorities  against  it. 
Twelve  years  intervened  betwixt  that  vote  and  our  celebra 
tion  to  welcome  the  actual  introduction  of  the  water,  —  the 
fluid  we  drew  from  the  wells  growing  steadily  more  and  more 
repulsive  and  unwholesome ;  but  the  glad  day  came  at  last ; 
and  New  York  has  ever  since  been  a  more  eligible,  healthful 
residence  for  rich  or  poor  than  it  previously  was. 

We  have  had  cholera  and  other  epidemics  since ;  but  our 
city  has  never  since  been  paralyzed  as  it  was  in  the  Summer 
of  1832.  Those  who  could  mainly  left  us  ;  scarcely  any  one 
entered  the  city;  trade  was  dead,  and  industry  languished 


MY  FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  NEW  YORK.  89 

during  that  fatal  Summer.  I  think  I  sometimes  met  two,  if 
not  three,  palanquins,  bearing  cholera  patients  to  some  hos 
pital,  in  my  short  walk  from  dinner  in  Chatham  Street  to  my 
work  in  Wall  Street.  One  died  at  my  boarding-house.  I 
believe  nearly  all  experienced  symptoms  of  the  plague,  though 
it  was  most  common  and  most  fatal  with  those  debilitated  by 
intemperance  or  some  form  of  sensual  excess.  But  it  passed 
off  as  cool  evenings  came  on ;  our  fugitives  and  our  business 
came  back  to  us ;  and  all,  save  the  dead  and  the  bereaved, 
was  as  before. 

In  October  I  paid  a  visit,  via  Providence  and  Boston,  to  my 
relatives  in  New  Hampshire;  walking  over  the  lower  part  of 
that  State  from  Londonderry  into  eastern  Vermont,  and  as  far 
north  as  Newport,  which  I  entered  after  dark  of  a  stormy  even 
ing,  having  walked  from  Claremont  (nine  miles)  in  a  rain,  at 
first  gentle,  but  steadily  increasing  to  the  last.  I  never  enter, 
as  a  stranger,  a  private  house  if  I  can  avoid  it ;  and  I  kept 
hoping  to  see  a  tavern-sign  until  I  was  so  wet  that  it  was  of 
no  consequence.  When  at  last  I  reached  the  village,  where 
I  expected  (but  failed)  to  find  an  uncle  living,  it  proved  to  be 
court-week,  with  the  two  taverns  crowded  to  overflowing. 
Making  my  way  through  a  thick  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke  to 
the  office  of  one,  I  procured  a  remnant  of  supper,  and  part  of 
a  bed  in  a  private  house  at  some  distance,  where  I  threw  off 
my  wet  clothes  and  slept.  In  the  morning,  my  clothes  all 
responded  to  the  call  to  duty  till  it  came  to  my  short  boots ; 
these  utterly  refused,  until  I  had  taken  off  my  wet  socks  and 
thrust  them  into  my  pockets,  when  the  boots  were  barely 
persuaded  to  resume  their  only  serviceable  position.  I  took 
breakfast,  paid  my  bill,  and  walked  off,  in  the  frosty  morning 
air,  considerably  less  supple-jointed  than  one  should  be  at  one- 
and-twenty.  I  never  saw  this  New  Hampshire  Newport  be 
fore,  and  have  not  seen  it  since. 

My  relatives  being  pretty  widely  scattered,  I  had  occasion 
to  traverse  southwestern  New  Hampshire  in  various  direc 
tions  ;  and  I  saw  more  of  that  State  than  ever  before  or 
since.  I  started,  one  clear,  frosty  morning,  from  Francestown, 


90  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

taking  a  mountainous  by-way  to  Stoddard ;  and,  as  I  recollect, 
I  did  not  see  a  hundred  acres  of  really  arable  soil  in  travelling 
twelve  to  fifteen  miles.  There  was  some  rugged  pasturage ; 
but  Hemlock  and  White  Birch,  alternating  with  naked  rocks 
and  mountain  tarns  or  petty  lakes,  generally  monopolized 
the  prospect.  I  met  one  poor  soul  who  had  a  horse  and 
wagon,  and  heartily  pitied  him.  He  could  rarely  ride,  while 
my  walk  was  far  easier  and  less  anxious  than  his. 

Beaching  Stoddard  (a  small  village  half-way  up  a  high 
hill),  I  stepped  into  a  convenient  tavern,  and  called  for  dinner. 
My  breakfast  had  been  quite  early ;  the  keen  air  and  rough 
walk  had  freshened  my  appetite  ;  I  was  shown  into  a  dining- 
room  with  a  well-spread  table  in  the  centre,  and  left  to  help 
myself.  There  were  steaks,  chickens,  tea,  coffee,  pies,  &c.,  and 
I  did  ample  justice  to  all.  "  What  is  to  pay  ? "  I  asked  the 
landlord,  on  reentering  the  bar-room.  "  Dinner  18f  cents,"  he 
replied.  I  laid  down  the  required  sum,  and  stepped  off,  men 
tally  resolving  that  I  would,  in  mercy  to  that  tavern,  never 
patronize  it  again. 

I  returned  by  the  way  I  went ;  walking  from  Providence 
across  to  Norwich,  Conn.,  where  I  took  steamboat,  and  arrived 
in  New  York  on  the  second  of  our  three  days  of  State  elec 
tion.  I  gave  my  vote  right  heartily  for  the  anti-Jackson 
ticket,  but  without  avail,  —  Jackson  being  overwhelmingly 
reflected,  with  Marcy  over  Granger  for  Governor.  I  soon 
found  work  which  paid  fairly  at  the  stereotyping  establish 
ment  of  J.  S.  Eedfield,  and  was  there  employed  till  the  close 
of  that  year,  when  an  opportunity  presented  for  commencing 
business  on  my  own  account,  which  I  improved,  as  will  be 
set  fortli  in  my  next  chapter. 


XII. 

GETTING    INTO    BUSINESS. 

HAVING  been  fairly  driven  to  New  York  two  or  three 
years  earlier  than  I  deemed  desirable,  I  was  in  like 
manner  impelled  to  undertake  the  responsibilities  of  business 
while  still  in  my  twenty-second  year.  My  friend  Story,  barely 
older  than  myself,  but  far  better  acquainted  with  city  ways, 
having  been  for  many  years  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow, 
and  accustomed  to  struggling  with  difficulties,  had  already 
conceived  the  idea  of  starting  a  printery,  and  offering  me  a 
partnership  in  the  enterprise.  His  position  in  Wall  Street,  on 
The  Spirit  of  the  Times,  made  him  acquainted  with  Mr.  S.  J. 
Sylvester,  then  a  leading  broker  and  seller  of  lottery-tickets, 
who  issued  a  weekly  "  Bank-Note  Reporter,"  largely  devoted 
to  the  advertising  of  his  own  business,  and  who  offered  my 
friend  the  job  of  printing  that  paper.  Story  was  also  intimate 
with  Dr.  W.  Beach,  who,  in  addition  -to  his  medical  practice, 
dabbled  considerably  in  ink,  and  at  whose  office  my  friend 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  young  graduate,  Dr.  H.  D. 
Shepard,  who  was  understood  to  have  money,  and  who  was  in 
tent  on  bringing  out  a  cheap  daily  paper,  to  be  sold  about  the 
streets,  —  then  a  novel  idea,  —  daily  papers  being  presumed 
desirable  only  for  mercantile  men,  and  addressed  exclusively 
to  their  wants  and  tastes.  Dr.  Shepard  had  won  over  my 
friend  to  a  belief  in  the  practicability  of  his  project ;  and  the 
latter  visited  me  at  my  work  and  my  lodging,  urging  me  to 
unite  with  him  in  starting  a  printery  on  the  strength  of  Mr. 
Sylvester's  and  Dr.  Shepard's  proffered  work.  I  hesitated, 
having  very  little  means,  —  for  I  had  sent  a  good  part  of  my 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

past  year's  scanty  savings  to  aid  my  father  in  his  struggle 
with  the  stubborn  wilderness ;  but  Story's  enthusiastic  con 
fidence  at  length  triumphed  over  my  distrust ;  we  formed  a 
partnership,  hired  part  of  two  rooms  already  devoted  to  print 
ing,  on  the  southwest  corner  of  Nassau  and  Liberty  Streets 
(opposite  our  city's  present  post-office),  spending  our  little  all 
(less  than  $200),  and  stretching  our  credit  to  the  utmost,  for 
the  requisite  materials.     I  tried  Mr.  James  Conner,  the  exten 
sive  type-founder  in  Ann  Street,  —  having  a  very  slight  ac 
quaintance  with  him,  formed  in  the  course  of  frequent  visits 
to  his  foundry  in  quest  of  "sorts"  (type  found  deficient  in 
the  several  offices  for  which  I  had  worked  at  one  time  or 
another),— but  he,  after  hearing  me  patiently,  decided  not  to 
credit  me  six  months  for  the  $40  worth  of  type  I  wanted  of 
him;  and  he  did  right,  — my  exhibit  did  not  justify  my 
request.     I  went  directly  thence  to  Mr.  George  Bruce,  the 
older  and  wealthier  founder,  in  Chambers  Street,  — made  the 
same  exhibit,  and  was  allowed  by  him  the  credit  I  asked ;  and 
that  purchase  has  since  secured  to  his  concern  the  sale  of  not 
less  than  $  50,000  worth  of  type.     I  think  he  must  have  noted 
something  in  my  awkward,  bashful  ways,  that  impelled  him 
to  take  the  risk. 

The  Morning  Post  — Dr.  Shepard's  two-cent  daily,  which 
he  wished  to  sell  for  one  cent  — was  issued  on  the  1st  of 
January,  1833.  Nobody  in  New  York  reads  much  (except 
visitor's  cards)  on  New  Year's  Day;  and  that  one  happened 
to  be  very  cold,  with  the  streets  much  obstructed  by  a  fall  of 
snow  throughout  the  preceding  night.  Projectors  of  news 
papers  in  those  days,  though  expecting  other  people  to  adver 
tise  in  their  columns,  did  not  comprehend  that  they  also  must 
advertise,  or  the  public  will  never  know  that  their  bantling  has 
been  ushered  into  existence ;  and  Dr.  Shepard  was  too  po°or  to 
give  his  sheet  the  requisite  publicity,  had  he  understood  the 
matter.  He  was  neither  a  writer  nor  a  man  of  affairs ;  had 
no  editors,  no  reporters  worth  naming,  no  correspondents,  and 
no  exchanges  even;  he  fancied  that  a  paper  would  sell,  if 
remarkable  for  cheapness,  though  remarkable  also  for  the 


GETTING  INTO  BUSINESS.  93 

absence  of  every  other  desirable  quality.  He  was  said  to 
have  migrated,  while  a  youth,  from  New  Jersey  to  New  York, 
with  $  1,500  in  cash ;  if  he  did,  his  capital  must  have  nearly 
all  melted  away  before  he  had  issued  his  first  number.  Though 
his  enterprise  involved  no  outlay  of  capital  by  him,  and  his 
weekly  outgoes  were  less  than  $  200,  he  was  able  to  meet 
them  for  a  single  week  only,  while  his  journal  obtained  a  cir 
culation  of  but  two  or  three  hundred  copies.  Finally,  he 
reduced  its  price  to  one  cent ;  but  the  public  would  not  buy 
it  even  at  that,  and  we  printers,  already  considerably  in  debt 
for  materials,  were  utterly  unable  to  go  on  beyond  the  second 
or  third  week  after  the  publisher  had  stopped  paying.  Thus 
the  first  cheap-for-cash  daily  in  New  York  —  perhaps  in  the 
world  —  died  when  scarcely  yet  a  month  old ;  and  we  printers 
were  hard  aground  on  a  lee  shore,  with  little  prospect  of 
getting  off. 

We  were  saved  from  sudden  bankruptcy  by  the  address  of 
my  partner,  who  had  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  wealthy, 
eccentric  Briton,  named  Schols,  who  had  a  taste  for  editorial 
life,  and  who  was  somehow  induced  to  buy  the  wreck  of  The 
Morning  Post,  remove  it  to  an  office  of  his  own,  and  employ 
Story  as  foreman.  He  soon  tired  of  his  thriftless,  profitless 
speculation,  and  threw  it  up;  but  we  had  meantime  sur 
mounted  our  embarrassments  by  the  help  of  the  little  money 
he  paid  for  a  portion  of  our  materials  and  for  my  partner's 
services.  Meantime,  the  managers  of  the  New  York  lotteries, 
then  regularly  drawn  under  State  auspices,  had  allowed  a 
portion  of  their  letter-press  printing  to  follow  Mr.  Sylvester's 
into  our  concern,  and  were  paying  us  very  fairly  for  it ;  I 
doing  most  of  the  composition.  For  two  or  three  months 
after  Dr.  Shepard's  collapse,  I  was  frequently  sent  for  to  work 
as  a  substitute  in  the  composing-room  of  The  Commercial 
Advertiser,  not  far  from  our  shop ;  and  I  was  at  length  offered 
a  regular  situation  there ;  but  our  business  had  by  this  time 
so  improved  that  I  was  constrained  to  decline.  Working  early 
and  late,  and  looking  sharply  on  every  side  for  jobs,  we  were 
beginning  to  make  decided  headway,  when  my  partner  was 


94  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

drowned  (July  9,  1833)  while  bathing  in  the  East  Kiver 
near  his  mother's  residence  in  Brooklyn,  and  I  bitterly  mourned 
the  loss  of  my  nearest  and  dearest  friend.  His  place  in  the 
concern  was  promptly  taken  by  another  young  printer,  a 
friend  of  the  bereaved  family,  Mr.  Jonas  Winchester,  who 
soon  married  Story's  oldest  sister ;  and  we  thus  went  on,  with 
moderate  but  steady  prosperity,  until  the  ensuing  Spring, 
when  we  issued  (March  22,  1834),  without  premonitory 
sound  of  trumpet,  THE  NEW-YORKER,  a  large,  fair,  and  cheap 
weekly  folio  (afterward  changed  to  a  double  quarto),  devoted 
mainly  to  current  literature,  but  giving  regularly  a  digest  of 
all  important  news,  including  a  careful  exhibit  and  summary 
of  election  returns  and  other  political  intelligence.  I  edited 
and  made  up  this  paper,  while  my  partner  took  charge  of  our 
more  profitable  jobbing  business. 

The  New-Yorker  was  issued  under  my  supervision,  its  edito 
rials  written,  its  selections  made,  for  the  most  part,  by  me, 
for  seven  years  and  a  half  from  the  date  just  given.  Though 
not  calculated  to  enlist  partisanship  or  excite  enthusiasm,  it 
was  at  length  extensively  liked  and  read.  It  .began  with 
scarcely  a  dozen  subscribers  ;  these  steadily  increased  to  nine 
thousand ;  and  it  might,  under  better  business  management, 
(perhaps  I  should  add,  at  a  more  favorable  time,)  have  proved 
profitable  and  permanent.  That  it  did  not  was  mainly  owing 
to  these  circumstances :  1.  It  was  not  extensively  advertised 
at  the  start,  and  at  least  annually  thereafter,  as  it  should  have 
been.  2.  It  was  never  really  published,  though  it  had  half  a 
dozen  nominal  publishers  in  succession.  3.  It  was  sent  to 
subscribers  on  credit,  and  a 'large  share  of  them  never  paid  for 
it,  and  never  will,  while  the  cost  of  collecting  from  others  ate 
up  the  proceeds.  4.  The  machinery  of  railroads,  expresses, 
news  companies,  news  offices,  &c.,  whereby  literary  periodicals 
are  now  mainly  disseminated,  did  not  then  exist.  I  believe 
that  just  such  a  paper,  issued  to-day,  properly  published  and 
•advertised,  would  obtain  a  circulation  of  one  hundred  thousand 
in  less  time  than  was  required  to  give  The  Xew- Yorker  scarcely 
a  tithe  of  that  aggregate,  and  would  make  money  for  its 


GETTING  INTO  BUSINESS.  95 

owners,  instead  of  nearly  starving  them,  as  mine  did.  I  was 
worth  at  least  $  1,500  when  it  was  started ;  I  worked  hard 
and  lived  frugally  throughout  its  existence ;  it  subsisted  for 
the  first  two  years  on  the  profits  of  our  job-work ;  when  I, 
deeming  it  established,  dissolved  with  my  partner,  he  taking 
the  jobbing  business  and  I  The  New-Yorker,  which  held  its 
own  pretty  fairly  thenceforth  till  the  Commercial  Eevulsion 
of  1837  swept  over  the  land,  whelming  it  and  me  in  the  gen 
eral  ruin.  I  had  married  in  1836  (July  5th),  deeming  myself 
worth  $5,000,  and  the  master  of  a  business  which  would 
thenceforth  yield  me  for  my  labor  at  least  $  1,000  per  annum ; 
but,  instead  of  that,  or  of  any  income  at  all,  I  found  myself 
obliged,  throughout  1837,  to  confront  a  net  loss  of  about  $  100 
per  week,  —  my  income  averaging  $100,  and  my  inevitable 
expenses  $  200.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  appealed  to  delinquents 
to  pay  up ;  many  of  them  migrated ;  some  died ;  others  were 
so  considerate  as  to  order  the  paper  stopped,  but  very  few  of 
these  paid ;  and  I  struggled  on  against  a  steadily  rising  tide 
of  adversity  that  might  have  appalled  a  stouter  heart.  Often 
did  I  call  on  this  or  that  friend  with  intent  to  solicit  a  small 
loan  to  meet  some  demand  that  could  no  longer  be  postponed 
nor  evaded,  and,  after  wasting  a  precious  hour,  leave  him, 
utterly  unable  to  broach  the  loathsome  topic.  I  have  bor 
rowed  $  500  of  a  broker  late  on  Saturday,  and  paid  him  $  5 
for  the  use  of  it  till  Monday  morning,  when  I  somehow  con 
trived  to  return  it.  Most  gladly  would  I  have  terminated  the 
struggle  by  a  surrender ;  but,  if  I  had  failed  to  pay  my  notes 
continually  falling  due,  I  must  have  paid  money  for  my  weekly 
supply  of  paper,  —  so  that  would  have  availed  nothing.  To 
have  stopped  my  journal  (for  I  could  not  give  it  away)  would 
have  left  me  in  debt,  beside  my  notes  for  paper,  from  fifty 
cents  to  frvyo  dollars  each,  to  at  least  three  thousand  subscribers 
who  had  paid  in  advance ;  and  that  is  the  worst  kind  of  bank 
ruptcy.  If  any  one  would  have  taken  my  business  and  debts 
off  my  hands,  upon  my  giving  him  my  note  for  $  2,000,  I  * 
would  have  jumped  at  the  chance,  and  tried  to  work  out  the 
debt  by  setting  type,  if  nothing  better  offered.  If  it  be  sug- 


96  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

gested  that  my  whole  indebtedness  was  at  no  time  more  than 
$  5,000  to  $  7,000,  I  have  only  to  say  that  even  $  1,000  of 
debt  is  ruin  to  him  who  keenly  feels  his  obligation  to  fulfil 
every  engagement,  yet  is  utterly  without  the  means  of  so 
doing,  and  who  finds  himself  dragged  each  week  a  little  deeper 
into  hopeless  insolvency.  To  be  hungry,  ragged,  and  penni 
less  is  not  pleasant;  but  this  is  nothing  to  the  horrors  of 
bankruptcy.  All  the  wealth  of  the  Rothschilds  would  be  a 
poor  recompense  for  a  five  years'  struggle  with  the  conscious 
ness  that  you  had  taken  the  money  or  property  of  trusting 
friends,  —  promising  to  return  or  pay  for  it  when  required,  — 
and  had  betrayed  their  confidence  through  insolvency. 

I  dwell  on  this  point,  for  I  would  deter  others  from  enter 
ing  that  place  of  torment.  Half  the  young  men  in  the  coun 
try,  with  many  old  enough  to  know  better,  would  "  go  into 
business"  —  that  is,  into  debt  —  to-morrow,  if  they  could. 
Most  poor  men  are  so  ignorant  as  to  envy  the  merchant  or 
manufacturer  whose  life  is  an  incessant  struggle  with  pecun 
iary  difficulties,  who  is  driven  to  constant  "shinning,"  and 
who,  from  month  to  month,  barely  evades  that  insolvency 
which  sooner  or  later  overtakes  most  men  in  business ;  so 
that  it  has  been  computed  that  but  one  in  twenty  of  them 
achieve  a  pecuniary  success.  For  my  own  part,  —  and  I 
speak  from  sad  experience,  —  I  would  rather  be  a  convict  in 
a  State  prison,  a  slave  in  a  rice-swamp,  than  to  pass  through 
life  under  the  harrow  of  debt.  Let  no  young  man  misjudge 
himself  unfortunate,  or  truly  poor,  so  long  as  he  has  the  full 
use  of  his  limbs  and  faculties,  and  is  substantially  free  from 
debt.  Hunger,  cold,  rags,  hard  work,  contempt,  suspicion, 
unjust  reproach,  are  disagreeable ;  but  debt  is  infinitely  worse 
than  them  all.  And,  if  it  had  pleased  God  to  spare  either  or 
all  of  my  sons  to  be  the  support  and  solace  of  my  declining 
years,  the  lesson  which  I  should  have  most  earnestly  sought 
to  impress  upon  them  is,  —  "  Never  run  into  debt !  Avoid 
pecuniary  obligation  as  you  would  pestilence  or  famine.  If 
you  have  but  fifty  cents,  and  can  get  no  more  for  a  week,  buy 
a  peck  of  corn,  parch  it,  and  live  on  it,  rather  than  owe  any 


GETTING  INTO  BUSINESS.  97 

man  a  dollar  ! "  Of  course,  I  know  that  some  men  must  do 
business  that  involves  risks,  and  must  often  give  notes  and 
other  obligations,  and  I  do  not  consider  him  really  in  debt 
who  can  lay  his  hands  directly  on  the  means  of  paying,  at 
some  little  sacrifice,  all  he  owes  ;  I  speak  of  real  debt,  —  that 
which  involves  risk  or  sacrifice  on  the  one  side,  obligation 
and  dependence  on  the  other,  —  and  I  say,  From  all  such,  let 
every  youth  humbly  pray  God  to  preserve  him  evermore  ! 


When  I  at  length  stopped  The  New-Yorker  (September  20, 
1841),  though  poor  enough,  I  provided  for  making  good  all  I 
owed  to  its  subscribers  who  had  paid  in  advance,  and  shut  up 
its  books  whereon  were  inscribed  some  $10,000  owed  me  in 
sums  of  $  1  to  $  10  each,  by  men  to  whose  service  I  had 
faithfully  devoted  the  best  years  of  my  life,  —  years  that, 
though  full  of  labor  and  frugal  care,  might  have  been  happy 
had  they  not  been  made  wretched  by  those  men's  dishonesty. 
They  took  my  journal,  and  probably  read  it ;  they  promised 
to  pay  for  it,  and  defaulted ;  leaving  me  to  pay  my  paper- 
maker,  type-founder,  journeymen,  &c.,  as  I  could.  My  only 
requital  was  a  sorely  achieved  but  wholesome  lesson.  I  had 
been  thoroughly  burned  out,  only  saving  my  books,  in  the 
great  Ann  Street  fire  (August  12,  1835) ;  I  was  burned  out 
again  in  February,  1845 ;  and,  while  the  destruction  was 
complete,  and  the  insurance  but  partial,  I  had  the  poor  con 
solation,  that  the  account-books  of  The  New-Yorker  —  which 
I  had  never  opened  since  I  first  laid  them  away,  but  which 
had  been  an  eye-sore  and  a  reminder  of  evil  days  whenever  I 
stumbled  upon  them  —  were  at  length  dissolved  in  smoke 
and  flame,  and  lost  to  sight  for  ever. 


XIII. 

TEMPERANCE    IN    ALL    THINGS. 

ON  the  first  day  of  January,  1824,  while  living  in  West- 
haven,  Vermont,  I  deliberately  resolved  to  drink  no 
more  distilled  liquors.  At  this  time  I  had  heard  of  persons 
who  had  made  a  kindred  resolve,  but  I  had  not  known  one. 
I  had  probably  heard  that  Temperance  societies  had  some 
where  been  formed,  though  I  do  not  now  distinctly  recollect 
the  circumstance.  I  believe  the  first  American  society  that 
adopted  the  principle  of  Total  Abstinence  —  at  least  from 
distilled  liquors  —  had  been  organized  in  a  rural  township 
of  Saratoga  County,  N.  Y.,  in  1817;  but  the  American  Tem 
perance  Society  was  yet  unknown,  and  did  not  adopt  the 
principle  of  Total  Abstinence  from  Alcoholic  Beverages  until 
1833. 

Whiskey  and  Tobacco  were  the  universal  luxuries  —  I 
might  say  the  poor  man's  only  luxuries  —  in  Vermont,  as 
Rum  had  been  in  New  Hampshire.  The  apple-tree  flourished 
luxuriantly,  and  bore  abundantly  on  the  virgin  soils  wherein 
it  was  generally  planted,  and  while  each  settler's  "  clearing  " 
was  shut  in  by  the  grand  old  woods  which  softened  the 
harsher  winds  and  obstructed  the  dissemination  of  fruit- 
destroying  insects.  Good  peaches  were  grown  in  southern 
New  Hampshire  fifty  years  ago  ;  whereas  they  can  no  longer 
be  produced,  save  rarely  and  scantily,  in  southern  New  Yoi-k. 
Cider  was,  next  to  water,  the  most  abundant  and  the  cheapest 
fluid  to  be  had  in  New  Hampshire,  while  I  lived  there,  — 
often  selling  for  a  dollar  per  barrel.  In  many  a  family  of  six 
or  eight  persons,  a  barrel  tapped  on  Saturday  barely  lasted  a 


TEMPERANCE  IN  ALL  THINGS.  99 

full  week.  Whoever  dropped  in  of  an  evening  expected  to 
be  treated  to  cider ;  a  mug,  once  emptied,  was  quickly  refilled  ; 
and  so  on,  till  every  one  was  about  as  full  as  he  could  hold. 
The  transition  from  cider  to  warmer  and  more  potent  stimu 
lants  was  easy  and  natural ;  so  that  whole  families  died 
drunkards  and  vagabond  paupers  from  the  impetus  first  given, 
by  cider-swilling  in  their  rural  homes. 

I  believe  I  was  five  years  old  when  my  grandfather  Wood- 
burn's  house  in  Londonderry  was,  one  Winter  day,  filled  with 
relatives,  gathered,  in  good  part,  from  Deering,  Windham,  and 
from  Vermont  towns  originally  settled  from  the  old  hive ; 
who,  after  dinner,  departed  in  their  sleighs  to  visit  some 
other  relative,  taking  our  old  folks  witli  them,  and  leaving 
but  three  or  four  little  boys  of  us  to  keep  house  till  their 
return.  A  number  of  half-smoked  cigars  had  been  left  on 
the  mantel,  and  some  evil  genius  suggested  to  us  tow-headed 
urchins  that  it  would  be  smart  and  clever  to  indulge  in  a 
general  smoke.  Like  older  fools,  we  went  in  ;  and  I  was 
soon  the  sickest  mortal  on  the  face  of  this  planet.  I  cannot 
say  as  to  my  comrades  in  this  folly  ;  but  that  half-inch  of 
cigar-stump  will  last  me  all  my  life,  though  its  years  should 
outnumber  Methuselah's.  For  a  decade  thereafter,  it  was 
often  my  filial  duty  to  fill  and  light  my  mother's  pipe,  when 
she  had  lain  down  for  her  after-dinner  nap  ;  and  she,  having 
taken  it,  would  hold  it  and  talk  till  the  fire  had  gone  out,  so 
that  it  must  again  be  lighted  and  drawn  till  the  tobacco  was 
well  ignited ;  hence  I  know  that,  if  I  had  not  been  proof 
against  narcotic  seduction,  I  should  have  learned  to  like  the 
soothing  weed  ;  but  I  never  used,  nor  wished  to  use,  it  as  a 
sedative  or  a  luxury  after  my  one  juvenile  and  thoroughly 
conclusive  experiment.  From  that  hour  to  this,  the  chewing, 
smoking,  or  snuffing  of  tobacco  has  seemed  to  me,  if  not  the 
most  pernicious,  certainly  the  vilest,  most  detestable  abuse 
of  his  corrupted  sensual  appetites  whereof  depraved  Man  is 
capable. 

In  my  childhood,  there  was  no  merry-making,  there  was 
no  entertainment  of  relatives  or  friends,  there  was  scarcely 


100  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

a  casual  gathering  of  two  or  three  neighbors  for  an  evening's 
social  chat,  without  strong  drink.  Cider,  always,  while  it 
remained  drinkable  without  severe  contortions  of  visage ; 
Rum  at  all  seasons  and  on  all  occasions,  were  required  and 
provided.  No  house  or  barn  was  raised  without  a  bountiful 
supply  of  the  latter,  and  generally  of  both.  A  wedding 
without  "  toddy,"  "  flip,"  "  sling,"  or  "  punch,"  with  rum  un 
disguised  in  abundance,  would  have  been  deemed  a  poor, 
mean  affair,  even  among  the  penniless  ;  while  the  more  for 
tunate  and  thrifty  of  course  dispensed  wine,  brandy,  and  gin 
in  profusion.  Dancing  —  almost  the  only  pastime  wherein 
the  sexes  jointly  participated  —  was  always  enlivened  and 
stimulated  by  liquor.  Militia  trainings  —  then  rigidly  en 
forced  at  least  twice  a  year  —  usually  wound  up  with  a 
drinking  frolic  at  the  village  tavern.  Election  days  were 
drinking  days,  as  they  still  too  commonly  are  ;  and  even 
funerals  were  regarded  as  inadequately  celebrated  without 
the  dispensing  of  spirituous  consolation  :  so  that  I  distinctly 
recollect  the  neighborhood  talk,  in  1820,  after  the  funeral  of 
a  poor  man's  child,  that,  if  he  had  not  been  mean  as  well  as 
poor,  he  would  have  cheered  the  hearts  of  his  sympathizing 
friends  by  treating  them  to  at  least  one  gallon  of  rum.  I 
have  heard  my  father  say  that  he  had  mowed  through  the 
haying  season,  of  thirty  successive  years,  and  never  a  day 
without  liquor ;  and  the  account  of  an  Irishman  who  mowed 
and  pitched  throughout  one  haying,  drinking  only  butter 
milk,  while  his  associates  drank  rum,  yet  accomplished  more, 
and  with  less  fatigue,  than  any  of  them,  was  received  with 
as  much  wondering  incredulity  as  though  it  had  been  certified 
that  he  lived  wholly  on  air;  Nay  :  we  had  an  ordination  in 
Amherst  nearly  fifty  years  ago,  settling  an  able  and  popular 
young  clergyman  named  Lord  (I  believe  he  is  now  the  vener 
able  ex-President  of  Dartmouth  College)  to  the  signal  satis 
faction  of  the  great  body  of  our  people  ;  and,  according  to  my 
recollection,  strong  drink  was  more  generally  and  bountifully 
dispensed  than  on  any  previous  occasion  :  bottles  and  glasses 
being  set  on  tables  in  front  of  many  farmers'  houses  as  an  in- 


TEMPERANCE  IN  ALL  THINGS.  101 

vitation  to  those  who  passed  on  their  way  to  or  from  the  instal 
lation  to  stop  and  drink  freely.  We  have  worse  liquor  now 
than  we  had  then  ;  and  delirium  tremens,  apoplexy,  palsy,  &c., 
come  sooner  and  oftener  to  those  who  use  it ;  but  our  con- , 
sumers  of  strong  drink  are  a  class  ;  whereas  they  were  then/ 
the  whole  people.  The  pious  probably  drank  more  discreetly 
than  the  ungodly ;  but  they  all  drank  to  their  own  satisfac 
tion,  and,  I  judge,  more  than  was  consistent  with  their  per 
sonal  good. 

My  resolve  not  to  drink  was  only  mentioned  by  me  at  our 
own  fireside  ;  but  it  somehow  became  known  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  where  it  excited  some  curiosity,  and  even  a  stronger 
feeling.  At  the  annual  sheep-washing,  in  June  following,  it 
was  brought  forward  and  condemned  ;  when  I  was  required  to 
take  a  glass  of  liquor,  and,  on  my  declining,  was  held  by  two 
or  three  youngsters  older  and  stronger  than  I,  while  the 
liquor  was  turned  into  my  mouth,  and  some  of  it  forced  down 
my  throat.  That  was  understood  to  be  the  end  of  my  foolish 
attempt  at  singularity. 

It  was  not,  however.  I  kept  quiet,  but  my  resolution  was 
unchanged  ;  and,  soon  after  my  removal  to  Poultney,  I  "  as 
sisted  "  in  organizing  the  first  Temperance  Society  ever  formed 
in  that  town,  —  perhaps  the  first  in  the  county.  It  inhibited 
the  use  of  distilled  liquors  only  ;  so  that  I  believe  our  first 
president  died  of  intemperance  some  years  afterward ;  but  a 
number  still  live  to  rejoice  that  they  took  part  in  that  move 
ment,  and  have  since  remained  faithful  to  its  pledge  and  its 
purpose.  I  recollect  a  story  told  at  that  time  by  our  adver 
saries  of  a  man  who  had  joined  the  Temperance  Society  just 
organized  in  a  neighboring  township,  and,  dying  soon  after 
ward,  had  been  subjected  to  an  autopsy,  which  developed  a 
cake  of  ice  weighing  several  pounds,  which  had  gradually 
formed  and  increased  in  his  stomach,  as  a  result  of  his  fanat 
ical  devotion  to  cold  water.  Alas  that  most  of  our  facetious 
critics  have  since  died,  and  no  autopsy  was  needed  to  develop 
the  cause  of  their  departure  !  A  glance  at  each  fiery  pro 
boscis,  that  irradiated  even  the  cerements  of  the  grave,  was 
sufficient. 


102  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Total  Abstinence  lias  never  yet  been  popular  in  this  nor 
in  any  other  great  city ;  and,  as  liquor  grows  unfashionable 
in  the  country,  it  tends  to  become  less  and  less  so.     A  great 
city  derives  its  subsistence  and  its  profits  from  ministrations 
therein,  not  only  to  the  real  needs  of  the  surrounding  country, 
but  to  its  baser  appetites,  its  vices,  as  well ;   and,  as  the 
country  becomes  less  and  less  tolerant  of  immoral  indulgences 
and  vicious  aberrations,  the  gains  of  cities  therefrom,  and 
their    consequent    interest    therein,   must   steadily   increase. 
Time  was  when  the  young  man  of  means  and  social  position, 
who  shunned  the  haunts  of  the  gamester,  the  wiles  of  the 
libertine,  and   never   indulged   in   a   drunken  "spree,"  was 
widely  sneered  at  as  a  "  milksop,"  or  detested  as  a  calculating 
hypocrite.     Sheridan's  Joseph  Surface  admirably  reflects  the* 
.  once  popular  appreciation  of  such  absurd,  fanatical  Puritan 
ism;   but,  as  the  world  grows  wiser  and  (in  an  important 
sense)  better,  a  great  though  silent  change  is  wrought  in  pub 
lic  sentiment,  which  compels  the  vicious  to  conceal  indul 
gences  that  they  formerly  paraded,  and  maintain  an  exterior 
decency  which  would  once  have  exposed  them  to  ridicule. 
Thousands,  who  formerly  gratified  their  baser  appetites  with 
out  disguise  or  shame,  now  feel  constrained,  not  to  "  leave 
undone,"  but  to  "  keep  unknown,"  by  hieing  to  some  great 
city,  —  where  no  one's  deeds  or  ways  are  observed  or  much 
regarded  so  long  as  he  keeps  out  of  the  hands  of  the  police, — 
and  there  balance  a  year's  compelled  decorum  by  a  week's 
unrestrained   debauchery.      Fifty  years   back,  a  jug  would 
readily  be  filled  with  any  designated  liquor  at  almost  any 
country  store  ;  now,  the  devotee  of  alcoholic  potations  must 
usually  send  or  take  his  demijohn  to  the  most  convenient 
city,  where  it  will  at  once  be  filled  and  despatched  to  its  im 
patient,  thirsty  owner ;  and  so,  as  the  Liquor  Interest  grows 
I  weaker  and  weaker  in  the  country,  it  becomes  stronger  and 
I  yet  stronger  in  the  cities,  whose  politics  it  fashions,  whose 
government   it  governs,  by  virtue  of  its  inherent   strength 
and  apprehensive  activity.     And  thus  the  Liquor  Traffic  has 
greater  strength  and  vitality  in  our  city  to-day  than  it  had 
twenty  to  forty  years  ago. 


TEMPERANCE  IN  ALL  THINGS.  103 

Sylvester  Graham  first  appeared  in  New  York  as  a  lecturer, 
I  think,  in  the  Winter  of  1831  -  32.  He  had  been  a  Presby 
terian  clergyman,  settled  in  New  Jersey,  and  was  styled  "  Dr.," 
though  I  do  not  know  that  he  ever  studied  or  practised  medi 
cine.  He  had  an  active,  inquiring  mind,  and  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  physics,  metaphysics,  and  theology  ;  he  was  a 
fluent  and  forcible,  though  diffuse  and  egotistical,  speaker;  and 
he  was  possessed  and  impelled  by  definite  convictions.  He 
was  at  home  in  single  combat  alike  with  Alcohol  and  Athe 
ism  ;  but  there  was  nothing  narrow  in  his  Temperance  nor 
in  his  Orthodoxy.  He  believed,  therefore  taught,  that  Health  ] 
is  the  necessary  result  of  obedience,  Disease  of  disobedience,  * 
to  physical  laws  ;  that  all  stimulants,  whether  alcoholic  or 
narcotic,  are  pernicious,  and  should  be  rejected,  save,  possibly, 
in  those  rare  cases  where  one  poison  may  be  wisely  employed 
to  neutralize  or  expel  another  :  he  condemned  Tea  and  Coffee, 
as  well  as  Tobacco,  Opium,  and  Alcoholic  potables,  —  Cider 
and  Beer  equally  with  Brandy  and  Gin,  save  that  the  poison 
is  more  concentrated  in  the  latter.  He  disapproved  of  all 
spices  and  condiments  save  (grudgingly)  a  very  little  salt ; 
and  he  held  that  more  suitable  and  wholesome  food  for  hu 
man  beings  than  the  flesh  of  animals  can  almost  always  be 
procured,  and  should  be  preferred.  The  bolting  of  meal,  to 
separate  its  coarser  from  its  finer  particles,  he  also  reprobated ; 
teaching  that  the  ripe,  sound  berry  of  Wheat  or  Eye,  being 
ground  to  the  requisite  fineness,  should  in  no  manner  be 
sifted,  but  should  be  made  into  loaves  and  eaten  precisely  as 
the  mill-stones  deliver  it.  Such  is,  in  brief,  "the  Graham 
system,"  as  I  heard  it  expounded  in  successive  lectures  by  its 
author,  and  fortified  by  evidence  and  reasoning  which  com 
manded  my  general  assent.  A  boarding-house  was  soon 
established,  based  on  its  principles,  and  I  became  an  inmate 
thereof,  as  well  as  of  others  afterward  founded  on  the  same 
general  ideas,  though  I  never  wholly  rejected  the  use  of 
meat.  Tea  I  never  cared  for,  and  I  used  none  at  all  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century ;  now,  I  sometimes  take  it  in  moderation, 
when  black  and  very  good.  Coffee  had  for  years  been  my 


104  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

chief  luxury,  —  coffee  without  breakfast  being  far  preferable, 
to  my  taste,  to  breakfast  without  coffee  ;  but,  having  drank  a 
strong  cup  of  it  one  evening  at  a  festive  board,  I  woke  next 
morning  to  find  my  hand  trembling ;  and  I  at  once  said,  "  No 
more  coffee  ! "  and  have  not  drank  it  since.     My  taste  grad 
ually  changed  thereafter,  so  that  I  soon  ceased  to  crave,  and 
now  thoroughly  dislike,  the  beverage.      And,  while   I   eat 
meat,  and  deem  it,  when  unspoiled  by  decay  or  bad  cookery, 
far  less  objectionable  than  hot  bread,  rancid  butter,  decayed 
fruits,  wilted  vegetables,  and  too  many  other  contributions  to 
our  ordinary  diet,  I  profoundly  believe  that  there  is  better  food 
obtainable  by  the  great  body  of  mankind  than  the  butcher 
and  the  fisherman  do  or  can  supply ;  and  that  a  diet  made  up 
of  sound  grain  (ground,  but  unbolted),  ripe,  undecayed  fruits, 
and  a  variety  of  fresh,  wholesome  vegetables,  witli  milk,  but 
ter,  and  cheese,  and  very  little  of  spices  or  condiments,  will 
enable  our  grandchildren  to  live  in  the  average  far  longer, 
and  fall  far  less  frequently  into  the  hands  of  the  doctors,  than 
we  do. 

My  wife,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  at  the  Graham 
House,  and  who  was  long  a  more  faithful,  consistent  disciple 
of  Graham  than  I  was,  in  our  years  of  extreme  poverty  kept 
her  house  in  strict  accordance  with  her  convictions  ;  never 
even  deigning  an  explanation  to  her  friends  and  relatives 
who  from  time  to  time  visited  and  temporarily  sojourned 
with  us  ;  and,  as  politeness  usually  repressed  complaint  or 
inquiry  on  their  part,  their  first  experiences  of  a  regimen 
which  dispensed  with  all  they  deemed  most  appetizing  could 
hardly  be  observed  without  a  smile.  Usually,  a  day,  or  at 
most  two,  of  beans  and  potatoes,  boiled  rice,  puddings,  bread 
and  butter,  with  no  condiment  but  salt,  and  never  a  pickle, 
was  all  they  could  abide  ;  so,  bidding  her  a  kind  adieu,  each 
in  turn  departed  to  seek  elsewhere  a  more  congenial  hospi 
tality. 

"  But  what  peculiar  effects  of  a  vegetable  diet  did  you  ex 
perience?"  some  will  naturally  ask.  I  answer  generally, 
"  Much  the  same  as  a  rum-drinker  notes  after  a  brief  return 


TEMPERANCE  IN  ALL  THINGS.  105 

to  water-drinking  exclusively.  I  first  felt  a  quite  perceptible 
sinking  of  animal  spirits,  a  partial  relaxation  or  depression 
of  natural  energies.  It  seemed  as  though  I  could  not  lift  so 
much,  jump  so  high,  nor  run  so  fast,  as  when  I  ate  meat. 
After  a  time,  this  lowering  of  the  tone  of  the  physical  system 
passed  away  or  "became  imperceptible.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  had  no  feeling  of  repletion  or  over-fulness ;  I  had  no  head 
ache,  and  scarcely  an  ache  of  any  sort ;  my  health  was  stub 
bornly  good ;  and  any  cut  or  other  flesh-wound  healed  more 
easily  and  rapidly  than  formerly.  Other  things  being  equal, 
I  judge  that  a  strict  vegetarian  will  live  ten  years  longer  than 
a  habitual  flesh-eater,  while  suffering,  in  the  average,  less 
than  half  so  much  from  sickness  as  the  carnivorous  must. 
The  simple  fact,  that  animals  are  often  diseased  when  killed  • 
for  food,  and  that  the  flesh  of  those  borne  in  crowded  cars, 
from  far  inland,  to  be  slaughtered  for  the  sustenance  of  sea 
board  cities,  is  almost  always  and  inevitably  feverish  and 
unwholesome,  ought  to  be  conclusive. 

On  the  whole,  I  am  convinced,  by  the  observation  and 
experience  of  a  third  of  a  century,  that  all  public  danger  lies 
in  the  direction  opposite  to  that  of  vegetarianism,  —  that  a 
thousand  fresh  Grahams  let  loose  each  year  upon  the  public 
will  riot  prevent  the  consumption,  in  the  average,  of  far  too 
much  and  too  highly  seasoned  animal  food  ;  while  all  the 
Goughs  and  Neal  Dows  that  ever  were  or  can  be  scared  up 
will  not  deter  the  body  politic  from  pouring  down  its  throat  \ 
a  great  deal  more  "fire-water"  than  is  good  for  it.  And, 
while  I  look  with  interest  on  all  attempts  to  substitute 
American  wines  and  malt  liquors  for  the  more  concentrated 
and  maddening  decoctions  of  the  still,  I  have  noted  no  such 
permanent  triumphs  in  the  thousand  past  attempts  to  cast 
out  big  devils  by  the  incantations  of  little  ones  as  would  give 
me  reason  to  put  faith  in  the  principle,  or  augur  success  for 
this  latest  experiment. 


XIV. 

POLITICS. 

AN  eager,  omnivorous  reader,  especially  of  newspapers, 
from  early  childhood,  I  was  an  ardent  politician  when 
not  yet  half  old  enough  to  vote.  I  heartily  sympathized  with 
the  Northern  uprising  against  the  admission  of  Missouri  as  a 
Slave  State,  and  shared  in  the  disappointment  and  chagrin  so 
widely  felt  when  that  uprising  was  circumvented  and  defeated 
by  what  was  called  a  Compromise.  I  think  few  of  us  blamed 
the  Southern  politicians  for  their  agency  in  our  defeat;  but 
the  score  of  Northern  Senators  and  Eepresentatives  who  (as 
we  thought)  betrayed  us  were  thenceforth  marked  men,  and 
few  indeed  of  them  were  ever  again  successful  aspirants  to 
popular  favor. 

When,  in  1824,  the  country  was  freshly  agitated  and  di 
vided,  after  several  years  of  general  calm,  by  the  nomination 
of  William  H.  Crawford,  of  Georgia,  for  President,  in  a  caucus 
attended  by  less  than  a  third  of  the  Members  of  Congress, — 
considerably  less  than  half  of  those  who  were  chosen  by  the 
dominant  party, —  all  New  England  became  zealously  anti- 
Caucus,  and  her  electoral  vote  was  cast  solid  for  John  Quincy 
Adams ;  there  being  no  serious  opposition  among  the  masses, 
though  several  of  her  leading  politicians,  and  hitherto  most 
influential  journals,  were  vehemently  for  Crawford.  The 
choice  in  the  House  of  Adams  for  President,  by  the  help  of 
Mr.  Clay  and  his  friends,  suited  us  exactly,  and  all  the  more 
that  Mr.  Clay  was  eminently  National  in  his  views  and  feel 
ings,  a  leading  champion  of  Internal  Improvements,  Protection 
to  Home  Industry,  and  every  good  work.  But  the  hostile 


POLITICS.  107 

combination  soon  thereafter  formed  of  the 'lately  warring  sup 
porters  of  Jackson,  Crawford,  and  Calhoun  respectively,  did 
not  please  us  at  all ;  Calhoun  especially  —  having  been  a 
National  man,  a  supporter  of  Protection,  River  and  Harbor  Im 
provement,  &c.,  while  in  Congress,  and  having  been  generally 
sustained  by  our  section  for  Vice-President  —  was  regarded, 
up  our  way,  as  a  renegade  from  principle  for  office  and  power. 
The  fierce  personal  warfare  waged  upon  Adams  and  Clay  for 
their  alleged  coalition,  by  and  in  full  view  of  this  hostile  com 
bination,  excited  our  wrath  and  scorn ;  but  this  did  not  over 
bear  the  fact  that  their  three  factions  united  were  an  over 
match  for  our  two ;  and,  as  Crawford  died  soon  after  Adams's 
accession,  they  were  enabled  to  achieve  what  would  now-a- 
days  be  called  a  close  connection,  by  running  Jackson  for 
President,  with  Calhoun  for  Vice-President.  We  ought  to 
have  countered  this  by  nominating  Clay  with  Adams,  or 
(better  still)  by  having  Adams  decline  a  reelection,  and  run 
ning  Clay  for  President,  with  Walter  Forward,  of  Pennsylvania, 
or  Smith  Thompson,  of  New  York,  for  Vice-President;  but 
everything  went  wrong  with  us :  the  sudden  death  of  De 
Witt  Clinton  consolidated  many  of  his  personal  followers  with 
their  life-long  adversaries  in  the  support  of  Jackson  for 
President,  with  Van  Buren  for  Governor  of  New  York ;  our 
nomination  of  Richard  Rush,  of  Pennsylvania,  for  Vice-Presi 
dent  was  injudicious,  and  gave  us  no  strength;  and  our 
reasonable  hopes  that  the  Tariff  question  would  secure  us 
Ohio  with  Kentucky,  and  give  us  a  fair  chance  for  Pennsyl 
vania,  were  blighted  by  the  tactics  of  our  antagonists :  Van 
Buren,  Silas  Wright,  Buchanan,  the  Jackson  delegations  from 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  and  Kentucky,  in  solid  column,  with  all 
but  two  or  three  members  from  New  York,  uniting  (in  1828) 
to  frame  and  pass  the  highest  and  most  Protective  Tariff  that 
had  ever  been  proposed,  over  the  votes  of  a  majority  of  the 
Adams  men  from  New  England.  Outmanoeuvred  on  every 
side,  we  were  clearly  foredoomed  to  defeat ;  the  loss  of  Mr. 
Clay's  own  Kentucky  was  a  blow  for  which  her  preceding 
election  of  Members  to  Congress  had  partly  prepared  us, 


108  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

though  we  carried,  by  a  close  vote,  her  Governor  (Metcalf)  in 
the  spirited  August  election  of  this  year;  but  Indiana,  and 
even  Ohio,  went  with  her,  though  we  had  carried  the  latter 
in  her  State  election  scarcely  a  month  before  the  popular  vote 
for  President.  Louisiana,  too,  voted  for  Jackson,  though  with 
us  in  her  preceding  State  contest ;  New  York  (then  choosing 
electors  by  districts)  gave  Adams  but  16  votes  to  20  for  his 
opponent;  and  so  we  were  badly  beaten,  carrying  but  84 
electors,  while  Jackson  —  having  every  vote  below  the  Poto 
mac,  and  all  west  of  the  Alleghanies  —  had  more  than  double 
that  number. 

In  the  succeeding  Presidential  contest  (1832)  we  had 
scarcely  a  chance.  Anti-Masonry  had  divided  us,  and  driven 
thousands  of  Adams  men  over  to  Jackson,  whose  personal 
popularity  was  very  great,  especially  with  the  non-reading 
class,  and  who  had  strengthened  himself  at  the  North  by  his 
Tariff  Messages  and  his  open  rupture  with  Calhoun.  New 
Hampshire  and  Maine  had  already  gone  over  to  him ;  Ver 
mont  voted  for  Wirt,  the  Anti-Masonic  candidate ;  Ohio,  dis 
tracted  by  Anti-Masonry,  went  again  for  Jackson ;  New  York 
(now  choosing  electors  by  general  ticket)  went  solid  for  him, 
with  Pennsylvania,  and  even  New  Jersey :  so  that  Mr.  Clay, 
though  carrying  his  own  Kentucky,  made  but  a  sorry  figure 
in  the  electoral  aggregate.  Massachusetts,  PJiode  Island, 
Connecticut,  Delaware,  and  part  of  Maryland  (by  districts), 
were  all  the  States  that  voted  for  him,  save  his  own. 

South  Carolina  now  threw  away  her  vote  for  President  on 
John  Floyd,  of  Virginia,  and  proceeded  to  nullify  the  Tariff, 
which  had  just  been  somewhat  reduced,  —  in  part,  to  placate 
her.  But  Van  Buren  had  been  substituted  for  Calhoun  as 
Vice-President,  and  she  would  not  be  placated.  Her  nullifi 
cation  was  abandoned,  rather  than  suppressed,  and  this  only 
after  the  main  point  had  been  virtually  yielded  to  her  by  a 
graduated  reduction  of  the  Tariff  throughout  the  next  ten 
years  to  a  purely  Revenue  standard.  Though  overborne,  she 
was  practically  triumphant.  Mr.  Clay  proposed  the  Compro 
mise  Tariff,  that  gave  her  ample  excuse  for  receding  from  her 


POLITICS.  109 

untenable  position;  but  only  after  it  had  been  rendered 
certain  that  a  more  immediate  and  sweeping  reduction  of  the 
Tariff,  already  reported  by  Mr.  Verplanck,  from  the  Committee 
of  Ways  and  Means,  would  be  carried  if  this  were  forborne. 
So  the  land  had  peace  again  for  a  brief  season. 

The  United  States  Bank  war,  which  soon  followed,  had 
already  been  inaugurated  by  General  Jackson's  imperious 
will.  Early  in  his  first  term,  he  had  been  prompted  to  re 
quire  the  removal  of  Jeremiah  Mason,  President  of  the  branch 
at  Portsmouth,  N.  II.,  who  was  obnoxious  to  his  leading 
friends  in  that  State.  He  was  not  gratified.  Though  the 
first  charter  of  the  bank  would  not  expire  till  1836,  he  de 
monstrated  against  its  renewal  so  early  as  1830 ;  telling  Con 
gress  that  the  question  should  be  promptly  acted  on,  so  that 
arrangements  might  seasonably  be  made,  in  case  it  should  not 
be  rechartered,  for  supplying  its  place  as  a  financial  agent  of 
the  Government,  and  a  commercial  convenience  to  the  people. 
A  Jackson  Congress,  in  due  time,  took  the  matter  in  hand, 
and,  in  1832,  voted  a  renewal  of  the  charter,  by  large  majorities 
in  either  House.  The  bill  was  vetoed,  and  the  Veto  Message 
complained  that  the  act  of  rechartering  was  premature! 
That  Congress,  prior  to  its  final  adjournment,  heard  vaguely 
that  the  President  intended  to  remove  the  deposits  of  public 
money  from  the  detested  Bank ;  whereupon  the  House  voted, 
by  three  to  one,  that  they  ought  not  to  be  removed. 

William  J.  Duane,  of  Pennsylvania,  was  then  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury.  The  President  required  him  to  remove  the 
deposits.  He  declined.  Jackson  thereupon  removed  him; 
appointing  in  his  stead  Eoger  B.  Taney,  of  Maryland,  who 
proceeded  at  once  to  do  his  master's  bidding.  When  a  new 
Congress  assembled  (December,  1833),  the  Federal  deposits,  as 
they  accrued,  were  being  dispersed  among  a  multiplicity  of 
State  banks,  —  the  least  able  being  of  course  the  most  needy 
and  clamorous  for  a  share  of  the  pap,  on  the  strength  of  their 
directors'  professed  devotion  to  the  Administration  and  its 
"revered  chief." 

I  have  always  —  at  least,  since  I  read  Dr.  Franklin's  auto- 


110  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

biography,  more  than  forty  years  ago  —  been  an  advocate  of 
paper  money.  But  I  want  it  to  be  money,  —  convertible  at 
pleasure  into  coin,  —  not  printed  lies,  even  though  they  fail 
to  deceive.  From  1818  up  to  1830,  this  country  suffered 
from  a  dearth  of  money.  Tens  of  thousands  were  unwillingly 
idle  from  month  to  month,  who  would  have  been  usefully  and 
profitably  employed  had  the  country  been  blest  with  an  ade 
quate  circulating  medium.  Comparatively  few  houses  were 
built  in  those  years,  because  of  the  scarcity  of  money,  which 
palsied  enterprise  and  petrified  labor.  As  a  journeyman,  I 
could  rarely  find  work  in  the  country,  because  there  was  so 
little  money ;  and,  on  coming  to  the  city,  I  found  that  pay 
ments  by  master  mechanics  to  their  men  were  mainly  made 
in  "  uncurrent "  notes  of  State  banks,,  which  must  often,  if  not 
generally,  be  taken  to  a  broker  and  "shaved"  before  they 
would  pay  board  or  buy  groceries.  The  consequent  loss  was 
something;  the  inevitable  bother  and  vexation  were  a  far 
greater  nuisance.  A  paper  currency  everywhere  current, 
everywhere  convertible  into  coin,  was  my  ideal ;  hence  I  was 
not  partial  to  local  emissions  of  paper,  but  a  zealous,  deter 
mined  advocate  of  a  National  Bank. 

The  United  States  Bank,  being  required  to  pay  over  the 
millions  it  held  on  deposit  for  the  Government,  receiving  no 
more,  began,  of  course,  to  contract  its  loans.  It  could  do  no 
otherwise ;  especially  as  an  attempt,  evidently  inspired,  had 
been  made  by  Jackson  brokers  to  break  its  branch  at  Savan 
nah  by  quietly  collecting  a  large  quantity  of  its  notes  and 
presenting  them  at  once  for  payment,  hoping  that  they  could 
not  all  be  met,  and  that  it  might  thereupon  be  claimed  that 
the  Bank  had  failed.  It  was  charged  by  its  adversaries  that 
the  contraction  consequent  upon  the  removal  of  the  Deposits 
was  too  rapid  and  too  great ;  in  fact,  that  its  purpose  was  the 
creation  of  commercial  distress  and  panic.  This  may  have 
been ;  but  a  very  decided  contraction  by  that  Bank  was  in 
evitable  ;  and  it  could  have  pursued  no  course  that  did  not 
expose  it  to  accusation  and  reproach.  I  presume  it  struggled 
for  its  life,  as  most  of  us  would  do,  if  assailed  with  deadly 


POLITICS.  Ill 

intent.  With  the  removal  of  the  Deposits,  its  power  to  regu 
late  the  currency  lapsed,  and  its  duty  as  well  Those  Banks 
to  which  the  Government  had  transferred  its  funds  and  its 
favors  should  unitedly  have  assumed  and  exercised  the  func 
tions  of  a  regulator,  or  confessed  their  inability. 

As  the  pressure  for  money  increased,  the  political  elements 
were  lashed  to  fury,  and  our  city,  the  focus  of  American  com 
merce,  became  the  arena  of  a  fierce  electioneering  struggle. 
Hitherto,  the  Jackson  ascendency  had,  since  the  death  of  De 
Witt  Clinton,  been  so  decided,  that  our  charter  elections  had 
usually  been  scarcely  contested ;  but  the  stirring  debates  daily 
received  from  Washington,  the  strivings  of  merchants  and 
banks  to  avert  bankruptcy,  the  daily  tightening  of  the  money 
market,  and  the  novel  hopes  of  success  inspired  in  the  breasts 
of  those  who  now  took  the  name  of  "Whigs"  (to  indicate 
their  repugnance  to  unauthorized  assumptions  of  Executive- 
power),  rendered  New  York  for  some  weeks  a  boiling  caldron 
of  political  passions.  Our  three  days'  election  (April,  1834) 
was  the  most  vehement  and  keenly  contested  struggle  which 
I  ever  witnessed.  Our  city  was  then  divided  into  fifteen 
Wards,  with  but  one  poll  to  each  Ward ;  and  I  should  esti 
mate  the  average  attendance  on  each  poll  at  little  less  than 
one  thousand.  I  am  certain  that  I  saw  the  masses  surround 
ing  the  Fourth  and  Sixth  Ward  polls  respectively  (then  but 
two  or  three  blocks  apart),  so  mingled  that  you  could  not  say 
where  the  one  ended  and  the  other  began.  There  were  some 
fights,  of  course,  and  one  general  collision  in  the  Sixth  Ward 
that  might  have  resulted  in  deplorable  bloodshed ;  but  peace 
was  soon  restored.  In  the  event,  the  Jacksonites  elected  their 
Mayor  (Cornelius  W.  Lawrence)  over  the  Whig  candidate 
(Gulian  C.  Verplanck)  by  384  majority,  which  was  less  than 
their  overplus  of  voters  naturalized  on  the  last  day  of  the 
poll.  The  total  vote  was  nearly  35,000  ;  which  was  probably 
a  closer  approach  to  the  whole  number  of  legal  voters  than 
was  ever  drawn  out  before  or  since.  The  Whigs  carried  both 
branches  of  the  Common  Council,  giving  them  the  control  of 
most  of  the  city  patronage ;  so  that  the  result  was  generally 
and  justly  regarded  as  a  drawn  battle. 


112  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

My  concern  printed  a  daily  campaign  penny  paper,  entitled 
The  Constitution,  through  most  of  that  year,  and  I  was  a  free 
contributor  to  its  columns,  though  its  editor  and  publisher 
was  Mr.  Achilles  R.  Grain,  who  died  some  thirty  years  ago. 
It  did  not  pay,  and  the  firm  of  Greeley  and  Winchester  were 
losers  by  it,  counting  my  editorial  assistance  worth  nothing. 
William  H.  Seward,  then  thirty-four  years  old,  and  just  closing 
with  distinction  a  four  years'  term  in  the  State  Senate,  was  our 
candidate  for  Governor,  with  Silas  M.  Stillwell  for  Lieutenant ; 
and  we  fondly  hoped  to  carry  the  State  in  the  November 
election.  But  meantime  the  State  Banks,  wherein  the  Federal 
revenue  was  deposited  ("  Pet  Banks,"  we  Whigs  termed  them), 
had  been  enabled  to  effect  an  enormous  expansion  of  their 
loans  and  issues  ;  and  the  country  —  not  yet  feeling  the  Tariff 
reductions  which  the  Compromise  of  1833  had  barely  in 
augurated —  was  launched  on  the  flood  of  a  factitious  but 
seductive  semblance  of  prosperity.  Money  was  abundant; 
every  one  had  employment  who  wanted,  and  pay  if  he  earned 
it ;  property  was  rapidly  appreciating  in  value  ;  factories  and 
furnaces  had  full  work,  and  were  doing  well ;  so,  when  the 
Fall  election  came,  we  made  a  gallant  fight,  but  wrere  badly 
defeated,  —  Marcy  being  reflected  Governor  over  Seward  by 
some  13,000  majority, —  more  than  he  had  over  Granger  in 
1832, —  and  the  Whigs,  beaten  pretty  generally  and  decisively, 
relapsed  into  a  torpor  Avhence  they  were  scarcely  aroused  by 
the  ensuing  Presidential  Election,  wherein  General  Harrison 
was  made  their  candidate  for  President,  with  Francis  Granger 
for  Vice-President,  while  Hugh  L.  White,  of  Tennessee,  ran 
for  President,  with  John  Tyler,  of  Virginia,  for  Vice-President, 
on  an  independent  ticket  which  contested  the  South  with  the 
Jackson  regulars,  who  alone  held  a  National  Convention,  in 
which  they  nominated  Martin  Van  Buren  for  President,  with 
Colonel  Richard  M.  Johnson,  of  Kentucky,  for  Vice.  I  was 
among  the  very  few  in  the  Eastern  States  who  had  taken  any 
interest  in  bringing  forward  General  Harrison  as  a  candidate, 
believing  that  there  was  the  raw  material  for  a  good  run  in 
his  history  and  character ;  but  this  was  not  generally  credited, 


POLITICS.  113 

at  least  in  our  State,  which,  in  a  languid  contest  on  a  light 
vote,  went  for  Van  Buren,  Johnson,  and  Marcy,  by  some 
28,000  majority.  When,  however,  the  returns  from  other 
States  came  pouring  in,  and  it  was  found  that  General  Harri 
son  had  carried,  with  Vermont  only  of  the  New  England 
States,  New  Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland,  Ohio,  Indiana,  and 
Kentucky,  and  had  barely  failed  to  carry  Pennsylvania,  while 
White  had  carried  Tennessee  and  Georgia,  barely  failing  in 
North  Carolina,  and  in  two  or  three  Southwestern  States, 
and  that  Virginia  had  refused  her  vote  to  Johnson,  so  that  he 
had  failed  of  an  election  by  the  people,  and  had  to  be  chosen 
over  Granger  by  the  Senate,  there  was  a  general  waking  up 
to  the  conviction,  that  either  Harrison  was  more  popular,  or 
Van  Buren  more  obnoxious,  than  had  been  supposed  in  our 
State,  and  that  the  latter  might  have  been  beaten  by  seasonable 
concert  and  effort.  In  that  slouching  Whig  defeat  of  1836  i 
lay  the  germ  of  the  overwhelming  Whig  triumph  of  1840.  \ 


Mr.  Van  Buren's  election  to  the  Presidency  always  seemed 
to  me  anomalous,  and  I  am  not  yet  fully  reconciled  to  it.  He 
had  none  of  that  personal  magnetism  which  made  General 
Jackson  and  Mr.  Clay  respectively  the  idols  of  their  contend 
ing  parties.  He  was  not  even  an  orator,  was  far  inferior  to 
Silas  Wright  as  a  debater,  and  to  William  L.  Marcy  in  execu 
tive  ability.  I  believe  his  strength  lay  in  his  suavity.  He 
was  the  reconciler  of  the  estranged,  the  harmonizer  of  those 
who  were  at  feud,  among  his  fellow-partisans.  An  adroit  and 
subtle,  rather  than  a  great  man,  I  judge  that  he  owed  his  elec 
tion,  first  to  the  Vice-Presidency,  then  to  the  Presidency,  to 
the  personal  favor  and  imperious  will  of  Andrew  Jackson, 
with  whom  "  Love  me,  love  my  dog,"  was  an  iron  rule.  Had 
there  been  no  Jackson,  Van  Buren  would  never  have  attained 
the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  his  countrymen. 


XV. 

PLAY-DAYS. 

WHOEVEE  has  spent  a  few  weeks  in  Paris  has  doubt 
less  paused  to  witness,  on  the  greensward  enclosed  by 
the  Palais  Koyal,  or  elsewhere,  groups  of  young  children  at 
play,  and  been  charmed  by  their  unconscious  spirit,  freedom, 
and  grace  of  manner.  The  French  chronicler's  observation, 
centuries  ago,  —  "  The  English  take  their  pleasures  sadly,"  - 
will  be  brought  to  his  mind  on  almost  every  occasion  when 
he  witnesses  an  attempt  at  festivity  on  the  part  of  the  neigh 
boring  islanders  or  of  their  descendants  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic.  Our  Scotch-Irish  settlers  in  southern  New  Hamp 
shire  brought  with  them  from  the  other  side  a  broad  humor, 
a  love  of  fun,  a  spirit  of  hospitality,  a  regard  for  kinship  and 
clanship,  which  had  not  wholly  faded  out  in  my  boyhood,  or 
been  drowned  in  the  sea  of  British  nationality  which  in  time 
rolled  over  the  continent,  submerging  the  islets  of  Scotch, 
Hollandic,  Swedish,  French,  or  other  diverse  origin,  which 
had  for  a  season  gleamed  above  the  waves.  The  low-born, 
rudely  bred  Englishman  has  but  one  natural  fashion  of  enjoy 
ing  himself,  — by  getting  drunk.  We  have  modified  this 
somewhat ;  but,  as  a  rule,  our  thrifty,  self-respecting  people 
have  hitherto  allowed  themselves  too  few  holidays,  and  failed 
to  make  the  best  use  of  those  they  actually  took. 

Fifty  years  have  passed  since  I  first  stole  down,  one  foggy 
morning,  to  the  brook  that  ran  through  the  west  side  of  my 
father's  farm  in  New  Hampshire,  and,  dropping  my  line  off 
the  bridge,  felt  a  bite  almost  instantly,  and,  hauling  up,  drew 
in  a  nice  speckled  trout.  I  had  tried  to  fish  before,  but 


PLAY-DAYS.  115 

without  success ;  henceforth,  through  boyhood,  I  was  an 
enthusiastic,  persevering  fisherman,  though  never  a  master 
of  the  art.  The  modern  sophistications  of  fly  and  reel  were 
unknown  in  rural  New  England  in  those  days  ;  hook,  line, 
and  sinker  gave  adequate  warning  to  every  considerate,  wary 
fish  of  what  he  had  to  expect  if  he  bit ;  but  fishermen  were 
fewer  and  brooks  more  shady,  less  capricious  in  volume,  than 
the  clearing  away  of  woods  has  since  made  them,  while  in 
tellectual  delights  were  rarer  and  less  inviting  :  so  fishing 
was  largely  the  pleasure  of  the  gay  and  the  business  of  the 
grave.  Our  rivers,  unvexed  by  mill-dams,  swarmed  in  their 
season  with  shad,  lamprey-eels,  &c.,  and  afforded  some  sal 
mon,  as  well  as  fish  of  less  consideration.  Even  the  sea  was 
not  too  far  to  be  visited  by  adventurous  parties,  intent  on  a 
week's  profitable  sport.  Winter  brought  its  sleigh-loads  of 
fresh  cod,  frozen  as  soon  as  fairly  out  of  water,  and  so  retain 
ing  the  sweetness  which  soon  vanishes  forever ;  and  I  reckon 
that,  down  to  1800,  the  people  of  New  England  had  eaten 
many  more  pounds  of  fish  than  of  beef  and  mutton  together, 
—  perhaps  of  all  meats  save  those  obtained  by  the  chase. 

In  Vermont,  the  clay  soil  of  the  Champlain  Valley  dis 
colors  the  brooks  when  full  and  repels  the  trout ;  but  the 
abundant  lakes  and  lakelets  used  to  abound  in  perch,  bass, 
and  sunfish,  while  the  larger  streams  afforded,  in  addition, 
eels  and  pike.  East  Bay  —  the  common  estuary  of  the 
Poultney  and  Castleton  creeks,  and  dividing  Westhaven 
from  Hampton,  N.  Y.  — is,  in  Spring,  the  resort  of  a  small, 
peculiar  shad,  which,  with  a  few  pike,  bass,  mullet,  &c.,  come 
up  from  the  Lake  to  spawn,  and  are  caught  with  seines  drawn 
by  two  fishermen,  who  wade  through  the  swollen  stream,  — 
one  of  them  sometimes  obliged  to  swim,  —  while  great  blocks 
of  ice,  left  aground  by  the  receding  floods,  often  lie  slowly 
wasting  along  the  bank.  The  melted  snow  from  the  moun 
tains  eastward  stings  like  a  hornet  as  you  enter  it ;  so  that, 
if  this  were  not  sport,  it  would  be  disagreeable  ;  but  I  have 
often,  when  ten  to  twelve  years  old,  carried  the  in-shore  staff 
while  my  father  took  the  deeper  track,  which  immersed  him 


116  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

up  to  his  neck  ;  we  dipping  together  at  his  word  of  command, 
and  then  gathering  up  our  net  and  carrying  out  therein,  from 
no  fish  at  all  up  to  six  or  eight.  I  have  known  a  dozen  taken 
at  one  haul ;  but  this  was  most  extraordinary. 

In  Summer,  we  sometimes  caught  a  fine  pike  or  eel  with 
hook  and  line  in  the  basin  beneath  the  fifty-foot  cataract  by 
which  the  blended  creeks  tumble  into  the  Bay ;  but  fishing 
here  was  too  slow  for  any  sportsman  less  persistent  than  I 
then  was.  I  have  sat  here  alone  in  the  dense  darkness  of  a 
wooded  abyss,  where  the  fall  drowned  all  sounds  but  its  own, 
from  8  to  11  P.  M.,  without  being  blest  with  a  bite,  and 
then  felt  my  way  up  through  the  Egyptian  darkness  of  the 
forest  hillside  to  the  road,  and  so  home,  pondering  on  the 
fickleness  of  fortune ;  yet  eager  to  try  again  whenever  oppor 
tunity  should  favor.  I  always  had  my  week's  work  allotted 
me  when  I  could,  and  generally  succeeded  in  redeeming  at 
least  the  Saturday  afternoon  for  my  favorite  pastime.  And  I 
wish  here  to  bear  my  testimony  against  a  current  theory  which 
imports  that  boys  are  naturally  lazy.  My  experience  contra 
dicts  it.  My  schoolmates  and  neighbors,  who  had  a  great 
deal  more  leisure  than  I,  were  frequent  visitors  to  the  field 
wherein  I  was  working  out  my  "  stint,"  and  very  rarely  hesi 
tated  to  turn  in,  with  hearty  good-will,  and  help  me  out,  so 
that  I  might  devote  the  rest  of  the  day  to  fishing,  ball,  or 
other  sport  with  them.  A  lazy  man,  in  my  view,  is  always 
the  pitiable  victim  of  miseducation.  Each  human  being, 
properly  trained,  works  as  freely  and  naturally  as  he  eats  ; 
only  the  victims  of  parental  neglect  or  misguidance  hate  work, 
and  prefer  hunger  and  rags  with  idleness,  to  thrift  won  by 
industry  and  patient  effort. 

There  came  a  day,  early  in  June,  1824,  when  I  had  ran 
somed  from  toil  the  afternoon  for  perch-fishing  in  "  Inman 
Pond,"  a  lovely  tarn,  lying  lonely  among  wooded  hills  in 
Fairhaven,  some  two  miles  east  of  our  home.  I  was  unde 
niably  ill,  in  the  forenoon,  so  that  I  was  twice  compelled  to 
desist  from  labor  and  lie  down  ;  hence,  my  mother  judiciously 
urged  me  to  let  the  fish  alone  for  that  day,  and  care  for  my 


PLAY-DAYS.  117 

health.  I  had  not  fished  for  months,  however  ;  the  day  was 
glorious  ;  I  set  off  for  the  pond  a  little  after  noon,  and  was 
dropping  the  perch  a  line  within  the  hour.  But  my  head 
soon  grew  heavy ;  there  was  a  strange  ache  in  my  every 
bone ;  the  breeze  that  sped  gently  across  the  pond,  though 
really  warm  and  bland,  seemed  to  chill  me  as  never  before. 
I  was  soon  compelled  to  put  aside  my  pole,  and  lie  down, 
shivering,  on  the  bare  rock  .which  here  formed  the  shore ; 
thus  passing  two  hours  in  a  semi-conscious  state  of  mingled 
delirium  and  suffering.  When  the  fit  of  ague  passed  off,  I 
rose  and  started  homeward,  but  was  constrained  to  stop  at 
the  first  house,  half  a  mile  from  home,  where  I  passed  the 
night.  I  had  seen  fever  and  ague  before,  but  never  felt  it ; 
and  I  made  haste  to  terminate  the  unpleasant  acquaintance. 

Judging  solely  from  my  own  experience,  I  believe  he  who 
will  begin  with  an  emetic  directly  after  his  first  fit,  and  fol 
low  this  with  heavy  and  frequent  doses  of  Peruvian  Bark  (I 
distrust  Quinine,  as  less  natural  and  more  perilous),  taking 
care  to  eat  very  little,  and  that  of  the  simplest  vegetable  food, 
and  do  absolutely  no  work  at  all,  may  break  the  fits  directly, 
and  return  to  work  quite  well  after  a  fortnight.  He  who 
neglects  or  trifles  with  this  scourge  may  lose  a  Summer  by 
it,  and  never  again  be  restored  to  his  pristine  health  and 
vigor. 

Ball  was  a  common  diversion  in  Vermont  while  I  lived  there ; 
yet  I  never  became  a  proficient  at  it,  probably  for  want  of 
time  and  practice.  To  catch  a  flying  ball,  propelled  by  a 
muscular  arm  straight  at  my  nose,  and  coming  on  so  swiftly 
that  I  could  scarcely  see  it,  was  a  feat  requiring  a  celerity  of 
actfon,  an  electric  sympathy  of  eye  and  brain  and  hand,  which 
my  few  and  far-between  hours  snatched  from  labor  for  recre 
ation  did  not  suffice  to  acquire.  Call  it  a  knack,  if  you  will ; 
it  was  quite  beyond  my  powers  of  acquisition.  "Practice 
makes  perfect."  I  certainly  needed  the  practice,  though  I 
am  not  sure  that  any  amount  of  it  would  have  made  me  a 
perfect  ball-player. 

I  like  popular  amusements,  especially  those  which  develop 


118  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  strengthen  the  muscles ;  but  I  do  not  like  the  modern 
matches  made  up  between  clubs  located  hundreds  of  miles 
apart.  According  to  my  notion,  the  prize  should  be  awarded 
in  these  matches  to  the  side  which  makes  the  shorter  score. 
In  awarding  the  palm  for  such  a  contest,  count  my  vote  al 
ways  for  the  beaten  party.  They  doubtless  mind  their  proper 
business  better,  and  perform  their  duties  as  fathers,  husbands, 
sons,  clerks,  journeymen,  apprentices,  &c.,  more  thoroughly 
than  do  the  victors.  It  is  an  honor  not  to  beat,  but  to  be 
beaten,  in  a  match  of  this  sort. 

I  wish  it  were  practicable  to  win  our  countrymen  to  a 
wiser  and  more  equable  frame  of  mind  respecting  recreations. 
Many  sourly  contemn  and  reject  them  altogether ;  and  I 
think  this  was  a  prevalent  mistake  of  our  better  class,  up  to 
a  late  period.  Now,  the  excess  seems  to  be  of  an  opposite 
character.  Too  many  make  play  a  business,  when  it  should 
be  only  a  diversion  from  business.  The  youth,  who  has 
given  his  minority  to  study  and  play  alternately,  with  no 
experience  of  work,  is  deplorably  ill  fitted  to  grapple  with  the 
stern  realities  of  responsible  life.  His  muscles  need  harden 
ing  ;  his  sinews  have  not  been  disciplined  to  the  work  that 
solicits  them.  As  between  a  youth  all  work  and  one  all 
play,  though  neither  is  commendable,  the  former  is  pref 
erable. 

I  never  saw  a  game  of  Billiards  played,  and  know  nothing 
of  Bowling  ;  yet  I  judge  this  latter  a  capital  in-door  exercise 
for  persons  of  sedentary  pursuits  and  habits.  These  I  would 
advise  to  shun  such  games  as  Chess,  Cards,  Checkers,  Back 
gammon,  &c.,  because  of  their  inevitable  tendency  to  impair 
digestion  and  incite  headache.  If  played  at  all,  they  should 
be  played  by  men  who  give  their  days  to  muscular,  out 
door  exertion,  and  at  night  feel  too  tired  to  study. 

I  tried  fishing  again,  after  being  weaned  of  it  throughout 
my  apprenticeship,  while  stopping  with  my  father  at  the 
West,  and  had  some  little  success  in  the  creeks  adjacent  to 
his  new  home  ;  but  I  was  no  longer  fascinated  by  the  sport, 
while  the  proceeds  were  of  slender  bulk  and  value.  The 


PLAY-DAYS.  119 

streams  were  full  of  trees  and  roots,  while  overgrown  by  a 
tangle  of  limbs  and  bushes ;  the  sawdust  gradually  repelled 
or  killed  the  trout ;  the  business  involved  more  plague  than 
profit  of  any  kind  ;  and  I  soon  deserted  it.  I  had  become,  in 
my  poor  way,  a  fisher  of  men. 

I  protest  against  making  a  business  of  play.  The  Yankees 
are  prone  to  "  run  the  thing  into  the  ground,"  be  it  what  it 
may.  We  work  immoderately,  and  play  ditto.  I  have  seen 
very  few  holidays  during  my  thirty-six  years'  sojourn  in  New 
York ;  and  such  is  the  experience  of  a  large  class  ;  while 
others  have  too  many  play-days,  —  far  too  many.  We  must 
somehow  strike  a  general  average,  for  mutual  benefit  and  the 
promotion  of  public  health. 

I  have  often  cooled  my  imagination,  amid  the  fervid  and 
sweltering  heats  of  a  summer  of  constant  work  in  the  city, 
with  a  dream  of  spending  a  week  amid  the  lakes  and  moun 
tains,  under  the  dense  forest-shades  of  "  John  Brown's  Tract," 
as  we  term  the  great  northern  wilderness  wherein  the  Hud 
son,  Mohawk,  Au- Sable,  Eacket,  Black,  and  other  rivers  of 
the  eastern  half  of  our  State,  have  their  sources  ;  and,  though 
I  never  found  time  to  set  foot  therein,  I  have  hardly  yet 
relinquished  the  hope  that  I  may  do  so.  I  was  ever  the 
zealous  advocate  of  all  works  of  internal  improvement,  so 
called,  save  those  which  aim  at  the  heart  of  that  wilderness, 
threatening  to  hunt  the  deer  from  their  last  refuge  on  our 
soil,  and  denude  of  their  forest-covering  the  springs  which 
feed  our  most  useful  and  valued  streams.  Strip  "  John 
Brown's  Tract "  of  its  timber,  and  the  Hudson  will,  from  June 
to  October,  cease  to  be  navigable  by  floating  palaces  to  Al 
bany  ;  while  desolating  floods,  especially  in  Spring,  will  do 
immense  damage  from  Utica  down  to  Castleton. 

I  presume,  if  I  were  ever  to  have  the  week  I  covet,  I  should 
find  it  insufferably  tedious,  —  the  mosquitoes  biting  superbly  ; 
the  trout  shyly,  or  not  at  all,  —  and  should  long  for  a  return 
to  civilization,  with  its  hourly  toils  and  struggles,  its  thronged 
pavements,  and  its  damp  newspapers  with  breakfast.  Still, 
I  should  like  to  try  the  experiment ;  and  I  hope  our  children 


120  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

will  see,  though  I  shall  not,  the  greater  portion  of  Pike  and 
Monroe  Counties,  with  other  sterile  mountain  districts  of 
eastern  Pennsylvania,  converted  into  spacious  deer-parks  of 
fifty  to  five  hundred  square  miles  each,  enclosed  by  massive 
stone  walls,  intersected  by  belts  of  grass  traversing  each  tiny 
valley  (so  as  speedily  to  stop  the  running  of  any  fires  that 
might  chance  to  be  started),  planted  with  the  best  timber, 
and  held  by  large  companies  of  shareholders  for  sporting, 
under  proper  regulations.  These  lands  are  not  now  worth  five 
dollars  per  acre  in  the  average ;  but  the  timber  on  them 
would  soon  be  cheap  at  one  hundred  dollars  per  acre,  if  this 
plan  were  adopted.  They  are  full  of  petty  lakes,  and  of 
spring-fed,  swiftly  running  streams,  which  would  soon  abound 
with  the  finest  trout  if  they  were  simply  let  alone ;  with 
proper  arrangements  for  breeding  and  feeding,  they  would 
produce  more  of  this  delicate  fish  than  New  York  and  Phila 
delphia  ever  yet  saw.  A  century  hence,  were  those  bleak 
mountains  thus  dealt  with,  they  would  be  covered,  as  of  old, 
with  a  magnificent  forest,  containing  more  serviceable  pine 
than  is  now  standing  in  all  our  States  east  of  the  Potomac 
and  Lake  Erie,  and  then  worth  at  least  five  hundred  dollars 
per  acre. 

Yet  the  fact  remains,  that  we  do  not  enjoy  our  holidays,  — 
do  not  know  how  to  play  judiciously  and  in  moderation. 
Though  often  invited,  I  never  yet  went  on  a  railroad  excur 
sion  that  was  to  outlast  the  day  of  starting ;  knowing  by  in 
stinct  that  it  would  prove  a  failure  so  far  as  enjoyment  was 
concerned.  And  my  recollection  of  steamboat  excursions, 
however  brief,  is,  that  they  were  generally  bores.  I  recollect 
that,  one  Fourth  of  July,  long  ago,  an  excursion  to  Sandy 
Hook  was  advertised  that  seemed  specially  inviting;  so  I 
overruled  my  distrust,  and  went.  At  11  A.  M.,  we  passen 
gers,  some  hundreds  in  number,  were  debarked,  by  small 
boats,  on  the  back  side  of  the  island,  which  we  found  a  sand- 
heap,  thinly  bristled  with  bushes,  —  its  solitary  dwelling 
inhabited  by  the  keeper  of  the  light-house,  whose  limited 
stock  of  bread  and  bacon  scarcely  afforded  us  a  fair  mouthful 


PLAY-DAYS.  121 

each.  Our  steamboat  had  gone  back  to  the  city  for  a  second 
load  ;  so  we  bathed,  and  killed  time  as  well  as  we  could,  until 
she  returned,  —  running  aground  as  she  attempted  to  near 
the  shore.  We  got  aboard,  and  waited  dreary  hours  —  hun 
gry,  crowded,  and  sullen  —  for  the  tide  to  rise  and  float  us 
off ;  being  tantalized  throughout  the  evening  by  the  shooting 
up  of  abundant  rockets  over  the  city,  barely  within  our  range 
of  vision.  At  length,  we  partly  floated,  partly  pulled  off; 
and,  at  midnight,  we  were  landed  at  the  Battery,  —  as  thor 
oughly  wearied  and  disgusted  a  lot  of  disappointed  pleasure- 
seekers  as  ever  crept  silently  to  their  homes.  I  have  never 
since  hankered  after  a  seaward  excursion. 


We  have  teachers  of  every  art,  science,  and  ology ;  why  not 
a  teacher  of  the  art  of  enjoying  leisure,  —  of  making  play  a 
little  less  wearisome  than  work  ?  Take  excursions  to  illus 
trate  my  idea.  Why  should  not  any  person  above  ten  years 
old  know  better  than  to  embark  on  a  crowded  vessel  or  train 
with  some  hundreds  of  others,  mainly  total  strangers,  expect 
ing  to  enjoy  in  their  company  a  trip  of  several  days?  But 
if,  instead  of  this,  a  small  party  of  intimate,  devoted  friends, 
of  reasonably  accordant  tastes,  education,  and  habits,  were  to 
charter  a  little  steamboat,  or  a  train,  or  a  dozen  wagons, 
and  so  betake  themselves  to  some  quiet  nook  where  they 
would  be  safe  from  intrusion  or  prying  curiosity,  —  say  an 
islet  off  the  coast  or  in  the  St.  Lawrence,  a  lake-side  in  our 
Northern  wilderness,  a  cluster  of  deserted  shingle-makers' 
huts  on  the  mountains  of  Eastern  Pennsylvania,  where  fish 
or  game  was  procurable,  and  cool  breezes  in  Midsummer 
might  be  confidently  expected,  —  they  surely  might  expect  to 
redeem  a  full  week  from  care  and  trouble,  and  return  to  their 
homes  more  vigorous,  more  healthful,  more  at  peace  with 
themselves  and  with  others,  —  cured  of  these  interminable 
headaches,  and  sound  in  body  and  soul.  Who  will  teach  us 
incessant  workers  how  to  achieve  leisure  and  enjoy  it  ? 


XVI. 

TRIUMPH. 

ME.  VAN  BUEEN  was  inaugurated  President  on  the 
4th  of  March,  1837;  when  General  Jackson  retired  to 
his  Hermitage,  congratulating  himself  that  he  left  the  Ameri 
can  people  prosperous  and  happy.  Never  was  man  more 
mistaken.  He  had  just  before  pointed  to  the  immense  sales 
of  public  lands,  in  1835-36,  as  proof  of  increased  and  general 
addiction  to  agriculture,  when,  in  fact,  it  proved  only  a  pleth 
ora  of  currency,  and  a  consequent  high-tide  of  speculation. 
At  length,  convinced  that  something  was  wrong,  the  General 
attempted  to  dam  the  flood  by  a  "  specie  circular,"  prescribing 
that  only  coin  should  thenceforth  be  received  in  payment  for 
public  lands.  This  device  precipitated  the  catastrophe  it  was 
intended  to  avert.  The  harvest  of  1836  had  been  generally 
bad,  while  our  importations  had  been  quite  large ;  we  were 
compelled  to  import  grain,  while  heavily  in  debt  to  Europe 
for  goods ;  thus  our  banks  were  drained  of  specie  both  ways, 
-  to  pay  for  lands  in  the  West  and  South,  and  for  grain  and 
goods  daily  pouring  in  from  the  Old  World.  They  held  out 
so  long  as  they  could,  and  then  gave  way,  —  those  of  our  city 
suspending  specie  payment  on  the  10th  of  May,  and  all  others 
directly  afterward,  save  that  some  of  those  located  in  the 
southwest  had  done  so  some  days  before.  Samuel  Swartwout, 
Collector  of  Customs  at  this  port,  at  first  proclaimed  that  he 
would  continue  to  receive  bank-notes  for  duties,  notwith 
standing  the  suspension  (which  was  promptly  legalized  by 
our  Jackson  legislature) ;  but  he  was  soon  overruled  from 
Washington ;  and  the  duties  on  imports  —  indeed,  the  entire 


TRIUMPH.  123 

Federal  revenue  —  were  thenceforth  collected  and  kept  in 
coin  alone.  The  revenues  of  all  the  States,  however,  were 
still  collected,  kept,  and  paid  out  in  bank-notes,  which  con 
tinued  to  be  the  currency  of  the  people. 

Mr.  Van  Buren  promptly  called  the  new  Congress  to  meet 
in  extraordinary  session  on  the  first  Monday  in  September, 
when  he  addressed  to  it  a  Message  which  laid  the  blame  of 
suspension  on  the  banks,  which  were  accused  of  over-issuing 
and  over-lending ;  and  he  thereupon  insisted  that  the  Gov 
ernment  should  divorce  itself  from  all  connection  with  banks, 
and  should  thenceforth  collect,  keep,  and  pay  out  its  revenues 
in  coin  only,  through  the  agency  of  special  depositories,  form 
ing  what  he  termed  the  Independent  Treasury.  An  able, 
earnest,  searching  debate  in  the  House  was  elicited  by  this 
proposition,  which  was  terminated  by  a  motion  of  Hon.  John 
C.  Clark,  of  this  State,  that  the  bill  providing  for  the  Inde 
pendent  Treasury  (so  called)  do  lie  on  the  table ;  which  was 
carried  in  a  full  House  by  a  small  majority.  Mr.  Clark  had 
been  a  Jackson-Van  Buren  Democrat,  but  was  henceforth 
accounted  a  "  Conservative,"  and  acted  openly  with  the  Whigs, 
as  did  Hon.  Nathaniel  P.  Tallmadge,  one  of  our  United  States 
Senators,  and  many  other  leading  men  hitherto  Democrats. 
The  Independent  Treasury,  thus  condemned  by  the  House, 
remained  in  force,  by  the  President's  direction,  until  it  was 
finally  enacted  in  the  Summer  of  1840. 


The  commercial  revulsion,  which  was  rather  apprehended  ^ 
than  fully  experienced  in  1834,  was  abundantly  realized  in 
1837.  Manufactories  were  stopped,  and  their  "  hands  "  thrown 
out  of  work.  Trade  was  almost  stagnant.  Bankruptcies 
among  men  of  business  were  rather  the  rule  than  the  excep 
tion.  Property  was  sacrificed  at  auction  —  often  at  sheriff's 
or  assignee's  sale  —  for  a  fraction  of  its  value ;  and  thousands, 
who  had  fondly  dreamed  themselves  millionnaires,  or  on  the 
point  of  becoming  such,  awoke  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
bankrupt.  The  banks  were,  of  course,  in  trouble,  —  those 


124  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

which  had  been  Government  depositories,  or  "pets,"  rather 
deeper  than  the  rest.  Looking  at  the  matter  from  their  point 
of  view,  they  had  been  first  seduced  into  a  questionable  path, 
and  were  now  reviled  and  assailed  for  yielding  to  their  seducers. 
Soon  were  heard  the  rumblings  of  a  political  earthquake. 
Scarcely  a  State  elected  Members  of  Congress  or  a  Governor 
in  1837,  after  the  Suspension  of  Specie  Payments ;  but  the 
Legislative  and  local  elections  of  Autumn  sufficiently  indi 
cated  the  popular  revulsion.  When  New  York  came  to  vote, 
in  November,  the  gale  had  stiffened  into  a  tornado.  The 

jj  Whigs  carried  New  York  City,  —  which  they  had  never  done 
x  before,  —  with  Westchester,  Orange,  Dutchess,  Greene,  Oneida, 

\  Onondaga,  and  other  counties  hitherto  overwhelmingly  Demo 
cratic,  giving  them  six  of  the  eight  Senate  districts,  including 
the  First  and  Second.  Herkimer,  Jefferson,  St.  Lawrence,  Suf 
folk,  and  a  few  smaller  counties,  were  all  that  clung  to  the 
waning  fortunes  of  Van  Buren,  —  the  Whigs  choosing  100 
out  of  the  128  Members  of  Assembly.  The  Senate,  being 
chosen  but  one  fourth  annually,  remained  strongly  Democratic. 


y  I  had  been  active,  as  usual,  in  the  canvass,  but  not  con 
spicuously  so,  —  my  personal  embarrassments  constraining 
me  not  to  be.  I  had  been  privately  tendered  a  place  on  the 
City  Assembly  ticket,  but  felt  obliged  to  decline  it.  Outside 
of  the  city,  I  had  no  political,  and  little  personal,  acquaintance 
in  the  State ;  having  never  yet  attended  a  State  Convention. 
I  was  somewhat  surprised,  therefore,  at  a  visit,  in  my  rude 
editorial  attic,  a  few  days  after  the  extent  of  our  victory  was 
ascertained,  from  a  stranger,  who  introduced  himself  as  Mr. 
Thurlow  Weed,  editor  of  The  Albany  Evening  Journal,  who, 
with  Mr.  Lewis  Benedict,  also  of  Albany,  was  stopping  at  the 
City  Hotel,  and  wished  to  confer  with  me  at  their  lodgings. 

I  accompanied  Mr.  Weed  to  his  hotel,  where  the  business 
which  had  brought  the  friends  to  New  York  was  unfolded. 
Decided  as  had  been  our  triumph  in  the  State,  it  had  been 
won  on  a  moderate  vote,  and  quite  as  much  by  the  failure  of 


TRIUMPH.  125 

Democrats  to  exercise  their  right  of  suffrage  as  by  their  voting 
the  Whig  ticket.  The  next  election  would  naturally  bring 
many  of  these  stay-at-homes  to  the  polls,  and  — there  being  a 
Governor  and  ^Representatives  in  Congress  to  be  then  chosen, 
with  a  United  States  Senator  in  prospect  —  would  inevitably 
draw  out  a  heavy  vote.  To  maintain  and  confirm  the  Whig 
ascendency,  it  had  been  resolved  to  publish,  throughout  1838, 
a  cheap  weekly  journal,  to  be  called  The  Jeffersonian,  which 
I  had  been  pitched  upon  as  the  proper  person  to  edit.  I 
believe  Mr.  Weed  first  designated  me  for  the  post,  though  he 
knew  nothing  of  me  except  by  reading  my  paper,  The  New- 
Yorker  ;  for  though  I  had  written  for  several  Whig  dailies, 
mainly  of  the  ephemeral  type,  I  had  done  so  anonymously. 
The  Jeffersonian  was  to  be  a  small  octavo,  issued  weekly  for 
a  year,  and  virtually  given  away  for  the  nominal  price  of  fifty 
cents  per  annum,  —  the  expense  of  its  issue  being  made  up 
by  voluntary  contributions  from  wealthy  or  spirited  Whigs. 
I  was  offered  $  1,000  to  serve  as  editor,  and  concluded  to 
accept  it,  though  this  would  oblige  me  to  spend  a  good  part 
of  my  time  —  in  Summer,  half  of  each  week ;  in  Winter,  nearly 
the  whole  —  in  Albany. 

About  two  months  thereafter,  having  put  my  affairs  into 
as  good  a  shape  as  possible,  I  took  stage  in  Cortlandt  Street, 
one  cold  Winter  morning,  and  had  a  sleigh-ride  thence  up  the 
west  side  of  the  Hudson  to  Albany,  where  I  arrived  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  third  day.     My  No.  1  appeared  in  due  time 
thereafter;  but,  as  my  small  paper  did  not  require  all  my\ 
time,  I  made  condensed  reports  of  the  Assembly  debates  for  I 
The  Evening  Journal,  and  wrote  some  articles  for  its  editorial » 
columns. 

The  new  era  in  politics  had  called  many  of  our  foremost 
men  to  Albany.  The  courtly  and  gracious  Luther  Bradish 
was  Speaker  of  the  Assembly.  Our  city  was  represented 
therein  by  several  notables,  —  among  them  David  B.  Ogclen, 
Willis  Hall,  Samuel  B.  Euggles,  and  Adoniram  Chandler. 
We  had  chosen  as  Senator  Gulian  C.  Verplanck,  whom  we 
vainly  tried  to  make  Mayor  in  1834.  From  Albany,  Daniel 


126  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

D.  Barnard;  from  Troy,  Day  0.  Kellogg;  from  Oneida,  For 
tune  0.  White ;  from  Onondaga,  James  E.  Lawrence,  Victory 
Birdseye,  and  Azariah  Smith ;  from  Eochester,  Derick  Sibley  ; 
from  Livingston,  George  W.  Patterson,  —  were  Whig  Members 
of  Assembly.  On  the  other  side  stood  Abijah  Mann,  of  Her- 
kimer,  Preston  King,  of  St.  Lawrence,  and  Eichard  Hulbert, 
of  Jefferson,  with  several  others  of  decided  ability  and  clever 
ness  in  parliamentary  warfare.  The  Free  Banking  System  — 

for  which  our  State  is  specially  indebted  to  Willis  Hall 

was  developed  and  established  that  Winter,  — a  great  and 
admirable  improvement  on  the  corrupting  political  monopoly 
^  it  superseded.  Our  banks  were  again  allowed  to  issue  small 
bills,  which  the  last  preceding  Legislature  had  forbidden. 
The  partisan  device  whereby  County  Judges  (there  were  then 
several  in  each  county)  were  interpolated  into  the  County 
Boards  of  Supervisors  for  the  purpose  of  making  certain  county 
appointments,  was  knocked  on  the  head.  In  short,  I  believe 
our  State  has,  since  1824,  had  no  other  Legislature  so  able, 
nor  one  that  did  so  much  good  and  so  little  harm  as  that 
yof  1838. 

*  The  Jeffersonian  was  a  campaign  paper,  but  after  a  fashion 
if  its  own.  It  carefully  eschewed  abuse,  scurrility,  and  rail 
ing  accusations.  Its  editorials  were  few,  brief,  and  related  to 
/the  topics  of  the  day,  —  rarely  evincing  partisanship,  never 
( bitterness.  Its  pages  were  mainly  devoted  to  the  ablest  and 
calmest  speeches  made  in  Congress,  —  generally  to  those 
which  opposed  the  Independent  (or  Sub-)  Treasury  scheme 
and  its  adjuncts,  though  other  able  essays  also  found  place  in 
it.  In  short,  it  aimed  to  convince  and  win  by  candor  and 
moderation,  rather  than  overbear  by  passion  and  vehemence. 
Its  circulation  was,  throughout,  about  15,000  copies;  and, 
being  mainly  read  by  those  who  took  no  other  paper,  I  think 
it  did  good.  Had  it  been  conducted  on  the  higli -pressure 
principle,  it  would  probably  have  had  a  larger  circulation,  and 
perhaps  done  no  good  at  all.  I  think  its  efficiency  was  some 
what  evidenced  by  the  fact  that,  while  the  Whigs  were  beaten 


TRIUMPH.  127 

that  Fall  in  Maine,  in  Pennsylvania,  in  Ohio  (which  they 
had  carried  two  years  before),  and  in  nearly  or  quite  every 
State  westward  of  Ohio,  they  were  successful  in  the  later 
election  in  New  York,  as  the  result  of  a  desperate  struggle, 
and  on  an  average  vote  largely  beyond  precedent,  —  William 
H.  Seward  ousting  William  L.  Marcy  from  the  Governor's 
chair,  and  Luther  Bradish  succeeding  John  Tracy  as  Lieu 
tenant-Governor,  —  each  by  more  than  10,000  majority.  We 
carried  also  the  Assembly  (though  by  no  such  majority  as  the 
year  before),  and  gained  somewhat  in  the  Senate;  but  that 
branch  was  still  adverse  to  us,  owing  to  the  dead  weight  accu 
mulated  in  former  years :  so  Governor  Seward's  nominations 
were  all  laid  on  the  table,  and  our  attempt  to  reelect  Hon. 
N.  P.  Tallmadge  United  States  Senator  was  likewise  defeated, 
—  the  law  requiring  each  House  to  nominate  a  Senator,  meet 
to  compare  nominations,  and,  in  case  of  their  disagreement, 
proceed  to  elect  in  joint  ballot ;  but  the  Democratic  Senators 
evaded  its  requirement  by  each  voting  for  a  separate  candi 
date  :  so  that  the  Senate  made  no  nomination,  and  could  not 
be  compelled  to  go  into  joint  ballot. 

Considerable  excitement  was  caused  by  this'  evasion  of  a 
strictly  prescribed  duty ;  and  the  Whigs,  by  desperate  exer 
tions,  carried  the  State  again  in  the  ensuing  election  (Novem 
ber,  1839),  though  this  city,  which  for  two  years  had  gone 
with  them,  now  went  against  them.  There  were  three  Sena 
tors  to  be  chosen  this  year  in  the  Third  (Albany  and  Dela 
ware)  District ;  and  the  Whigs  just  carried  them  all,  —  one  of 
them  (General  Erastus  Root)  by  barely  one  majority.  They 
had  never  triumphed  in  this  district  before ;  and  I  think  they 
never  carried  it  again  unless  their  adversaries  were  divided. 
And  now,  when  the  new  Legislature  met  (January,  1840),  we 
had,  along  with  the  Governor  and  Assembly,  a  clear  majority 
(20  to  12)  in  the  Senate,  and  a  new  chapter  was  to  be  opened. 

I  was  writing  at  a  reporter's  desk  in  the  Senate,  when,  very 
soon  after  its  first  sitting  had  begun,  some  Whig  rose  and 
moved  that  so  and  so  (the  Democratic  incumbents)  be  re 
moved  from  the  posts  of  secretary,  sergeant-at-arms,  &c.,  and 


128  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

that  so  and  so  [nominees  of  a  Whig  caucus,  held  the  night 
before]  be  appointed  in  their  stead.     At  once,  up  rose  the 
venerable  but  vigorous  Colonel  Samuel  Young,  of  Saratoga, 
and  for  nearly  an  hour  poured  hot  shot  into  the  proposition^ 
descanting  on  bleeding  constitutions,  outraged  liberties,  vio 
lated  rights,  &c.,  &c.     When  he  had  blown  out,  Uncle  Harry 
Livingston,  of  Dutchess,  —  a  humorous  old  Whig,  who,  in  the 
general  overturn  of  1837,  had  blundered  into  the  Senate  from 
the  Second  District,  to  the  amazement  of  himself  and  of  every 
body  else,  — sprang  to  his  feet.     As  we  all  knew  that  he 
could  not  make  a  speech, — in  fact,  had  scarcely,  till  now, 
attempted  it,  —  curiosity  was  on  tiptoe  to  catch  his  first  sen 
tence  ;  but  his  consciousness  that  he  had  something  good  to 
say  for  a  moment  choked  his  powers  of  utterance.     "  Mr.  Presi 
dent  "  (che-hee-hee),  —  «  Mr.  President,"  he  at  length  managed 
to  say,  "  I  take  it  that  this  is  one  of  those  questions  that  are 
settled  by  the  rule  of  eighteen  to  fourteen!'     [Throughout  the 
preceding  session,  every  attempt  to  confirm  one  of  Governor 
Seward's  nominees  resulted  in  this  entry  in  the  journal :  "Laid 
on  the  table,  — 18  to  14."]     The  hit  was  decided;  the  spec 
tators  roared ;  the  Senator  from  the  Fourth  was  shut  up ;  and 
the  Senate  proceeded  to  appoint  the  Whig  nominees  without 
further  opposition  or  demur.     Mr.  Tallmadge  was  soon  re- 
elected  to  the  Senate,  and  everything  put  in  order  for  the 
decisive  struggle  of  this  eventful  1840. 


XVII. 

LOO-CABIN    DAYS. 

NEW  YOBK,  which  gave  Mr.  Van  Buren  the  largest  ma 
jority  of  any  State  in  1836,  had  been  held  against  him 
throughout  his  administration,  though  she  was  his  own  State, 
and  he  had  therein  a  powerful  body  of  devoted,  personal 
adherents,  led  by  such  men  of  eminent  ability  as  Silas  Wright, 
William  L.  Marcy,  and  Edwin  Croswell.  She  had  been  so 
held  by  the  talent,  exertion,  and  vigilance  of  men  equally 
able  and  determined,  among  whom  Thurlow  Weed,  William 
H.  Seward  (now  Governor),  John  C.  Spencer,  and  Willis  Hall 
were  conspicuous.  But  our  majority  of  15,000  in  '37  had 
fallen  to  10,000  in  '38,  and  to  5,000  in  '39,  despite  our  best 
efforts ;  Governor  Seward's  school  recommendations  and  dis 
pensation  of  State  patronage  had  made  him  many  enemies ; 
and  the  friends  of  Mr.  Van  Buren  counted,  with  reason,  on 
carrying  the  State  for  his  reelection,  and  against  that  of 
Governor  Seward,  in  the  impending  struggle  of  1840.  Penn 
sylvania,  Ohio,  Tennessee,  arid  all  the  Northwest,  had  been 
carried  against  the  Whigs  in  the  most  recent  contests ;  Mr. 
Van  Buren's  star  was  clearly  in  the  ascendant  at  the  South ; 
while  New  England  and  New  Jersey  were  nicely  balanced,  — 
Massachusetts,  as  well  as  Maine  and  New  Hampshire,  having 
chosen  a  Democratic  governor  (Marcus  Morton)  in  1839.  Mr. 
Van  Buren's  Administration,  though  at  first  condemned,  was 
now  sustained  by  a  popular  majority  :  New  York  alone  —  his 
own  State  —  stood  forth  the  flagship  of  the  Opposition.  Both 
parties  were  silently  preparing  to  put  forth  their  very  best 
efforts  in  the  Presidential  contest  in  prospect ;  but  fully  two 


130  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

thirds  of  the  States,  choosing  about  that  proportion  of  the 
electors,  were  now  ranged  on  the  Democratic  side,  —  many  of 
them  by  impregnable  majorities,  —  while  scarcely  one  State 
was  unquestionably  Whig.  Mr.  Van  Buren,  when  first  over 
whelmed  by  the  popular  surge  that  followed  close  upon  the 
collapse  of  the  Pet  Bank  system,  had  calmly  and  with  dignity 
appealed  to  the  people's  "  sober  second  thought "  ;  and  it  now 
seemed  morally  certain  that  he  would  be  triumphantly  re- 
elected. 

Such  were  the  auspices  under  which  the  first  Whig  National 
Convention  (the  second  National  Convention  ever  held  by 
any  party,  —  that  held  in  1840  by  the  Democrats  at  Baltimore, 
which  nominated  Van  Buren  and  Johnson,  having  been  the 
first)  assembled  at  Hanisburg,  Pa.,  early  in  December,  1839. 
Of  its  doings  I  was  a  deeply  interested  observer.  The  States 
were  nearly  all  represented,  though  in  South  Carolina  there 
were  no  Whigs  but  a  handful ;  even  the  name  was  unknown 
in  Tennessee,  and  the  party  was  feeble  in  several  other  States. 
But  the  delegations  convened  included  many  names  widely 
and  favorably  known,  —  including  two  ex-Governors  of  Vir 
ginia  (James  Barbour  and  John  Tyler),  one  of  Kentucky 
(Thomas  Metcalf),  one  of  Ohio  (Joseph  Vance),  and  at  least 
one  from  several  other  States.  I  recollect  at  least  two  ex- 
Governors  of  Pennsylvania  (John  Andrew  Shultze  and  Joseph 
Eitner)  as  actively  counselling  and  sympathizing  with  the 
delegates. 

The  sittings  of  the  Convention  were  protracted  through 
three  or  four  days,  during  which  several  ballots  for  President 
were  taken.  There  was  a  plurality,  though  not  a  majority,  in 
favor  of  nominating  Mr.  Clay ;  but  it  was  in  good  part  com 
posed  of  delegates  from  States  which  could  not  rationally  be 
expected  to  vote  for  any  Whig  candidate.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  delegates  from  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  and  Indiana  said, 
"  We  can  carry  our  States  for  General  Harrison,  but  not  for 
Mr.  Clay."  New  York  and  New  Jersey  cast  their  earlier 
votes  for  General  Scott,  but  stood  ready  to  unite  on  General 
Harrison  whenever  it  should  be  clear  that  he  could  be  nomi- 


LOG-CABIN  DAYS.  131 

nated  and  elected ;  and  they  ultimately  did  so.  The  delegates 
from  Maine  and  Massachusetts  contributed  powerfully  to 
secure  General  Harrison's  ultimate  nomination.  Each  delega 
tion  cast  its  vote  through  a  committee,  and  the  votes  were 
added  up  by  a  general  committee,  which  reported  no  names 
and  no  figures,  but  simply  that  no  choice  had  been  effected ; 
until  at  length  the  Scott  votes  were  all  cast  for  Harrison,  and 
his  nomination  thus  effected ;  when  the  result  was  proclaimed. 

Governor  Seward,  who  was  in  Albany  (there  were  no  tele 
graphs  in  those  days),  and  Mr.  Weed,  who  was  present,  and 
very  influential  in  producing  the  result,  were  strongly  blamed 
by  the  ardent,  uncalculating  supporters  of  Mr.  Clay,  as  having 
cheated  him  out  of  the  nomination,  —  I  could  never  see  with 
what  reason.  They  judged  that  he  could  not  be  chosen,  if 
nominated,  while  another  could  be,  and  acted  accordingly. 
If  politics  do  not  meditate  the  achievement  of  beneficent  ends 
through  the  choice  and  use  of  the  safest  and  most  effective 
means,  I  wholly  misapprehend  them. 

Mr.  John  Tyler,  with  nearly  or  quite  all  his  fellow-dele 
gates  from  Virginia,  was  for  Clay  first,  last,  and  all  the  time ; 
for  him  whether  he  could  be  elected  or  not.  When  it  was 
announced  that  Mr.  Clay  was  defeated,  he  cried  (so  it  was 
reported) ;  and  that  report  (I  think)  gave  him  the  nomination 
for  Vice-President  without  a  contest.  It  was  an  attempt  of 
the  triumphant  Harrisonites  to  heal  the  wounds  of  Mr.  Clay's 
devoted  friends.  Yet  the  nomination  was,  for  several  reasons, 
a  strong  one.  Mr.  Tyler,  though  a  Jackson  man,  had  received, 
in  1828,  the  votes  for  United  States  Senator  of  the  Adams  men 
in  the  Virginia  Legislature,  and  been  thereby  elected  over 
John  Randolph.  When  Jackson  removed  the  deposits  from 
the  United  States  Bank,  he  united  with  the  Whigs  in  publicly 
condemning  the  act;  and,  having  been  superseded  therefor, 
he  was  thereafter  regarded  as  a  Whig.  He  had  voted  alone 
in  the  Senate  of  1832-33  against  the  Force  bill,  which  pro 
vided  for  the  collection  of  the  Federal  revenue  in  South  Caro 
lina  in  defiance  of  the  nullifying  ordinance  of  her  Convention. 
He  had  run  for  Vice-President  on  the  White  ticket  in  1836, 


132  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  so  had  acquired  a  hold  on  the  Southern  opponents  of  Van 
Buren,  which  soon  brought  them  all  heartily  into  the  support 
of  the  Harrisburg  ticket.  In  short,  the  Convention  made  the 
strongest  possible  ticket,  so  far  as  success  was  regarded ;  and 
the  Democrats  in  attendance  all  felt,  though  they  did  not 
confess  it.  Every  one  who  had  eyes  could  see  that  they  de 
sired  and  worked  for  the  nomination  of  Mr.  Clay.  One  of 
them,  after  the  ticket  was  made,  offered  to  bet  that  it  would 
not  be  elected;  but,  his  offer  being  promptly  accepted,  and  he 
requested  to  name  the  amount,  he  hauled  off.  In  short,  we 
left  Harrisburg  with  that  confidence  of  success  which  goes  far 
to  secure  its  own  justification ;  and  we  were  greeted  on  our 
way  home  as  though  the  battle  were  already  won. 

But  it  was  well  understood  that  the  struggle  would  be 
desperate,  especially  in  our  State,  and  preparations  were  soon 
in  progress  to  render  it  effective.  Our  adversaries  now  helped 
us  to  our  most  effective  weapons.  They  at  once  commenced 
assailing  General  Harrison  as  an  imbecile,  dotard,  granny, 
&c.,  who  had  seen  no  real  fighting,  but  had  achieved  a  good 
deal  of  tall  running  from  the  enemy ;  and  one  militia  general, 
Crary,  wrho  represented  Michigan  in  the  House,  having  made 
a  speech  in  this  vein,  provoked  a  response  from  Hon.  Tom 
Corwin  of  Ohio,  which  for  wit,  humor,  and  withering  yet 
good-natured  sarcasm  has  rarely,  if  ever,  been  excelled.  The 
triumph  was  overwhelming;  and,  when  the  venerable  and 
grave  John  Quincy  Adams,  in  a  few  casual  remarks  next 
morning,  spoke  carelessly  of  "  the  late  General  Crary,"  a  spon 
taneous  roar  attested  the  felicity  of  the  allusion. 

General  Harrison  had  lived  many  years  after  his  removal 
to  Ohio  in  a  log-house,  and  had  been  a  poor  man  most  of  his 
life,  as  he  still  was.  A  Democratic  journalist,  scoffing  at  the 
idea  of  electing  such  a  man  to  the  Presidency,  smartly  ob 
served,  in  substance,  "  Give  him  a  log-cabin  and  a  barrel  of 
hard  cider,  and  he  will  stay  content  in  Ohio,  not  aspiring  to 
the  Presidency."  The  taunt  was  immediately  caught  up  by 
the  Whigs :  "  log-cabins "  and  "  hard  cider "  became  watch 
words  of  the  canvass ;  and  every  hour  the  excitement  and 
enthusiasm  swelled  higher  and  higher. 


LOG-CABIN  DAYS.  133 

But  the  Democratic  party  claimed  an  unbroken  series  of 
triumphs  in  every  Presidential  election  which  it  did  not  throw 
away  by  its  own  dissensions  ;  and,  being  now  united,  regarded 
its  success  as  inevitable.  "  You  Whigs,"  said  Dr.  Duncan,  of 
Ohio,  one  of  its  most  effective  canvassers,  "  achieve  great  vic 
tories  every  day  in  the  year  but  one,  —  that  is  the  day  of 
election."  It  was  certain  that  a  party  which  had  enjoyed  the 
ever-increasing  patronage  of  the  Federal  Government  for  the 
preceding  twelve  years,  which  wielded  that  of  most  of  the 
States  also,  and  which  was  still  backed  by  the  popularity  and 
active  sympathy  of  General  Jackson,  was  not  to  be  expelled 
from  power  without  the  most  resolute,  persistent,  systematic 
exertions.  Hence,  it  was  determined  in  the  councils  of  our 
friends  at  Albany  that  a  new  campaign  paper  should  be  issued, 
to  be  entitled  The  Log-Cabin ;  and  I  was  chosen  to  conduct 
it.  No  contributions  were  made  or  sought  in  its  behalf.  I 
was  to  publish  as  well  as  edit  it ;  it  was  to  be  a  folio  of  good 
size ;  and  it  was  decided  that  fifteen  copies  should  be  sent  for 
the  full  term  of  six  months  (from  May  1  to  November  1) 
for  $  5. 

I  had  just  secured  a  new  partner  (my  fifth  or  sixth)  of  con 
siderable  business  capacity,  when  this  campaign  sheet  was 
undertaken  ;  and  the  immediate  influx  of  subscriptions  fright 
ened  and  repelled  him.  He  insisted  that  the  price  was  ruin 
ous, —  that  the  paper  could  not  be  afforded  for  so  little, — 
that  we  should  inevitably  be  bankrupted  by  its  enormous 
circulation, —  and  all  my  expostulations  and  entreaties  were 
unavailing  against  his  fixed  resolve  to  get  out  of  the  concern 
at  once.  I  therefore  dissolved  and  settled  with  him,  and  was 
left  alone  to  edit  and  publish  both  The  New-Yorker  and  The 
Log-Cabin,  as  I  had  in  1838  edited,  but  not  published,  The 
New-Yorker  and  The  Jeffersonian.  Having  neither  steam 
presses  nor  facilities  for  mailing,  I  was  obliged  to  hire  every 
thing  done  but  the  head-work,  which  involved  heavier  outlays 
than  I  ought  to  have  had  to  meet.  I  tried  to  make  The 
Log-Cabin  as  effective  as  I  could,  with  wood  engravings  of 
General  Harrison's  battle-scenes,  music,  &c.,  and  to  render  it 


f 


134  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

a  model  of  its  kind ;  but  the  times  were  so  changed  that  it 
was  more  lively  and  less  sedately  argumentative  than  The 
Jeffersonian. 

Its  circulation  was  entirely  beyond  precedent.  I  fixed  the 
edition  of  No.  1  at  30,000 ;  but  before  the  close  of  the  week 
I  was  obliged  to  print  10,000  more ;  and  even  this  was  too 
few.  The  weekly  issues  ran  rapidly  up  to  80,000,  and  might 
have  been  increased,  had  I  possessed  ample  facilities  for 
printing  and  mailing,  to  100,000.  With  the  machinery  of 
distribution  by  news  companies,  expresses,  &c.,  now  existing, 
I  guess  that  it  might  have  been  swelled  to  a  quarter  of  a 
million.  And,  though  I  made  very  little  money  by  it,  I  gave 
every  subscriber  an  extra  number  containing  the  results  of 
the  election.  After  that,  I  continued  the  paper  for  a  full  year 
longer;  having  a  circulation  for  it  of  10,000  copies,  which 
about  paid  the  cost,  counting  my  work  as  editor  nothing. 


The  Log-Cabin  was  but  an  incident,  a  feature  of  the  can 
vass.  Briefly,  we  Whigs  took  the  lead,  and  kept  it  through 
out.  Our  opponents  struggled  manfully,  desperately;  but 
wind  and  tide  were  against  them.  They  had  campaign  and 
other  papers,  good  speakers,  and  large  meetings  ;  but  we  were 
far  ahead  of  them  in  singing,  and  in  electioneering  emblems 
and  mottoes  which  appealed  to  popular  sympathies.  The 
elections  held  next  after  the  Harrisburg  nominations  were 
local,  but  they  all  went  our  way;  and  the  State  contests, 
which  soon  followed,  amply  confirmed  their  indications.  In 
September,  Maine  held  her  State  election,  and  chose  the  Whig 
candidate  for  Governor  (Edward  Kent)  by  a  small  majority, 
but  on  a  very  full  vote.  The  Democrats  did  not  concede  his 
election  till  after  the  vote  for  President,  in  November.  Penn 
sylvania,  in  October,  gave  a  small  Democratic  majority ; 
but  we  insisted  that  it  could  be  overcome  when  we  came  to 
vote  for  Harrison,  and  it  was.  In  October,  Ohio,  Indiana, 
and  Georgia  all  gave  decisive  Harrison  majorities,  rendering 
the  great  result  morally  certain.  Yet,  when  the  Presidential 


LOG-CABIN  DAYS.  135 

electors  chosen  were  fully  ascertained,  even  the  most  sanguine 
among  us  were  astounded  by  the  completeness  of  our  triumph. 
We  had  given  General  Harrison  the  electoral  votes  of  all  but 
the  seven  States  of  New  Hampshire,  Virginia,  South  Carolina, 
Alabama,  Illinois,  Missouri,  and  Arkansas,  —  60  in  all,— 
while  our  candidate  had  234 ;  making  his  the  heaviest  ma 
jority  by  which  any  President  had  ever  been  chosen.  New 
York,  where  each  party  had  done  its  best,  had  been  carried 
for  him  by  13,290  majority ;  but  Governor  Seward  had  been 
reflected  by  only  5,315.  With  any  other  candidate  for  Presi 
dent,  he  could  scarcely  have  escaped  defeat. 

I  judge  that  there  were  not  many  who  had  done  more 
effective  work  in  the  canvass  than  I  had ;  but  I  doubt  that 
General  Harrison  ever  heard  my  name.  I  never  visited  nor 
wrote  him ;  I  was  not  of  the  throng  that  surrounded  him  on 
reaching  Washington,  —  in  fact,  I  did  not  visit  that  city,  in 
1841,  until  after  his  most  untimely  death.  I  received  the 
news  of  that  calamity  on  landing  one  morning  from  an  Albany 
steamboat ;  and  I  mournfully  realized,  on  the  instant,  that  it 
was  no  common  disaster,  but  far-reaching  in  its  malign  influ 
ence.  General  Harrison  was  never  a  great  man,  but  he  had 
good  sense,  was  moderate  in  his  views,  and  tolerant  of  adverse  \r 
convictions ;  he  truly  loved  and  aspired  to  serve  his  country, 
and  was  at  the  summit  of  a  broadly  based  and  substantial 
popularity  which,  had  he  lived  out  his  term,  would  have 
averted  many  impending  evils.  Our  country,  in  my  view, 
had  lost  many  abler  men,  but  none  that  she  could  so  ill  spare 
since  Washington.  He  was  President  for  one  short  month ; 
and  then  the  hopes  born  of  his  election  were  suddenly  buried 
in  his  grave. 


XVIII. 

THE    TRIBUNE. 

ON  the  tenth  day  of  April,  1841,  —  a  day  of  most  unseason 
able  chill  and  sleet  and  snow,  —  our  city  held  her  great 
funeral  parade  and  pageant  in  honor  of  our  lost  President,  who 
had  died  six  days  before.  General  Eobert  Bogardus,  the  ven 
erable  Grand  Marshal  of  the  parade,  died  not  long  afterward 
of  exposure  to  its  inclemencies.  On  that  leaden,  funereal 
morning,  the  most  inhospitable  of  the  year,  I  issued  the  first 
number  of  THE  NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE.  It  was  a  small  sheet, 
for  it  wTas  to  be  retailed  for  a  cent,  and  not  much  of  a  news 
paper  could  be  afforded  for  that  price,  even  in  those  specie- 
paying  times.  I  had  been  incited  to  this  enterprise  by  sev 
eral  Whig  friends,  who  deemed  a  cheap  daily,  addressed  more 
especially  to  the  laboring  class,  eminently  needed  in  our  city, 
where  the  only  two  cheap  journals  then  and  still  existing  — 
The  Sun  and  The  Herald  —  were  in  decided,  though  un- 
avowed,  and  therefore  more  effective,  sympathy  and  affiliation 
with  the  Democratic  party.  Two  or  three  had  promised 
pecuniary  aid  if  it  should  be  needed ;  only  one  (Mr.  James 
Coggeshall,  long  since  deceased)  ever  made  good  that  promise, 
by  loaning  me  one  thousand  dollars,  which  was  duly  and 
gratefully  repaid,  principal  and  interest.  I  presume  others 
would  have  helped  me  had  I  asked  it ;  but  I  never  did.  Mr. 
Dudley  S.  Gregory,  who  had  voluntarily  loaned  me  one  thou 
sand  dollars  to  sustain  The  New-Yorker  in  the  very  darkest 
hour  of  my  fortunes,  in  1837,  and  whom  I  had  but  recently 
repaid,  was  among  my  most  trusted  friends  in  the  outset  of 
my  new  enterprise  also ;  but  I  was  able  to  prosecute  it  with 
out  taxing  (I  no  longer  needed  to  test)  his  generosity. 


THE  TRIBUNE.  137 

My  leading  idea  was  the  establishment  of  a  journal  re 
moved  alike  from  servile  partisanship  on  the  one  hand  and 
from  gagged,  mincing  neutrality  on  the  other.  Party  spirit 
is  so  fierce  and  intolerant  in  this  country  that  the  editor  of 
a  non-partisan  sheet  is  restrained  from  saying  what  he  thinks 
and  feels  on  the  most  vital,  imminent  topics  ;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  Democratic,  Whig,  or  Kepublican  journal  is 
generally  expected  to  praise  or  blame,  like  or  dislike,  eulogize 
or  condemn,  in  precise  accordance  with  the  views  and  interest 
of  its  party.  I  believed  there  was  a  happy  medium  between  \/ 
these  extremes,  —  a  position  from  which  a  journalist  might 
openly  and  heartily  advocate  the  principles  and  commend 
the  measures  of  that  party  to  which  his  convictions  allied 
him,  yet  frankly  dissent  from  its  course  on  a  particular  ques 
tion,  and  even  denounce  its  candidates  if  they  were  shown  to  *• 
be  deficient  in  capacity  or  (far  worse)  in  integrity.  I  felt  that 
a  journal  thus  loyal  to  its  guiding  convictions,  yet  ready  to 
expose  and  condemn  unworthy  conduct  or  incidental  error,  on  - 
the  part  of  men  attached  to  its  party,  must  be  far  more 
effective,  even  party-wise,  than  though  it  might  always  be 
counted  on  to  applaud  or  reprobate,  bless  or  curse,  as  the 
party's  prejudices  or  immediate  interest  might  seem  to  pre 
scribe.  Especially  by  the  Whigs  —  who  were  rather  the 
loosely  aggregated,  mainly  undisciplined  opponents  of  a  great 
party,  than,  in  the  stricter  sense,  a  party  themselves  —  did 
I  feel  that  such  a  journal  was  consciously  needed,  and  would 
be  fairly  sustained.  I  had  been  a  pretty  constant  and  copious 
contributor  (generally  unpaid)  to  nearly  or  quite  every  cheap 
Whig  journal  that  had,  from  time  to  time,  been  started  in  our 
city  ;  most  of  them  to  fail  after  a  very  brief,  and  not  particu 
larly  bright  career ;  but  one  —  The  New  York  Whig,  which 
was,  throughout  most  of  its  existence,  under  the  dignified  and 
conscientious  direction  of  Jacob  B.  Moore,  formerly  of  The 
New  Hampshire  Journal  —  had  been  continued  through  two 
or  three  years.  My  familiarity  with  its  history  and  manage 
ment  gave  me  confidence  that  the  right  sort  of  a  cheap  Whig 
journal  would  be  enabled  to  live.  I  had  been  ten  years  in 


138  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

New  York,  was  thirty  years  old,  in  full  health  and  vigor,  and 
worth,  I  presume,  about  two  thousand  dollars,  half  of  it  in 
printing  materials.  The  Jeffersonian,  and  still  more  The  Log- 
Cabin,  had  made  me  favorably  known  to  many  thousands  of 
those  who  were  most  likely  to  take  such  a  paper  as  I  pro 
posed  to  make  The  Tribune,  while  The  New-Yorker  had 
given  me  some  literary  standing  and  the  reputation  of  a  use 
ful  and  well-informed  compiler  of  election  returns.  In  short, 
I  was  in  a  better  position  to  undertake  the  establishment  of 
a  daily  newspaper  than  the  great  mass  of  those  who  try  it 
and  fail,  as  most  who  make  the  venture  do  and  must.  I  pre 
sume  the  new  journals  (in  English)  since  started  in  this  city 
number  not  less  than  one  hundred,  whereof  barely  two  —  The 
Times  and  The  World  —  can  be  fairly  said  to  be  still  living ; 
and  The  World  is  a  mausoleum  wherein  the  remains  of  The 
Evening  Star,  The  American,  and  The  Courier  and  Enquirer 
lie  inurned ;  these  having  long  ago  swallowed  sundry  of  their 
predecessors.  Yet  several  of  those  which  have  meantime 
lived  their  little  hour  and  passed  away  were  conducted  by 
men  of  decided  ability  and  ripe  experience,  and  were  backed 
by  a  pecuniary  capital  at  least  twenty  times  greater  than  the 
fearfully  inadequate  sum  whereon  I  started  The  Tribune. 

On  the  intellectual  side,  my  venture  was  not  so  rash  as  it 
seemed.  My  own  fifteen  years'  devotion  to  newspaper-mak 
ing,  in  all  its  phases,  was  worth  far  more  than  will  be  gen 
erally  supposed ;  and  I  had  already  secured  a  first  assistant 
in  Mr.  Henry  J.  Kaymond,  who  —  having  for  two  years, 
while  in  college  at  Burlington,  Vt.,  been  a  valued  contributor 
to  the  literary  side  of  The  New-Yorker — had  hied  to  the  city 
directly  upon  graduating,  late  in  1840,  and  gladly  accepted 
my  offer  to  hire  him  at  eight  dollars  per  week  until  he  could 
do  better.  I  had  not  much  for  him  to  do  till  The  Tribune 
was  started  :  then  I  had  enough  :  and  I  never  found  another 
person,  barely  of  age  and  just  from  his  studies,  who  evinced 
so  signal  and  such  versatile  ability  in  journalism  as  he  did. 
Abler  and  stronger  men  I  may  have  met ;  a  cleverer,  readier, 
more  generally  efficient  journalist,  I  never  saw.  He  remained 


THE   TRIBUNE.  139 

with  me  nearly  eight  years,  if  my  memory  serves,  and  is  the 
only  assistant  with  whom  I  ever  felt  required  to  remonstrate 
for  doing  more  work  than  any  human  brain  and  frame  could 
be  expected  long  to  endure.  His  salary  was  of  course. gradu 
ally  increased  from  time  to  time  ;  but  his  services  were  more 
valuable  in  proportion  to  their  cost  than  those  of  any  one  else 
who  ever  aided  me  on  The  Tribune. 

Mr.  George  M.  Snow,  a  friend  of  my  own  age,  who  had  had 
considerable  mercantile  experience,  took  charge  of  the  Finan 
cial  or  Wall-Street  department  (then  far  less  important  than 
it  now  is),  and  retained  it  for  more  than  twenty-two  years  ; 
becoming  ultimately  a  heavy  stockholder  in,  and  a  trustee  of, 
the  concern  ;  resigning  his  trust  only  when  (in  1863)  he  de 
parted  for  Europe  in  ill  health;  returning  but  to  die  two 
years  later.  A  large  majority  of  those  who  aided  in  prepar 
ing  or  in  issuing  the  first  number  had  preceded  or  have  fol 
lowed  Mr.  Snow  to  the  Silent  Land ;  but  two  remain,  and 
are  now  Foreman  and  Engineer  respectively  in  the  Print 
ing  Department,  —  both  stockholders  and  trustees.  Others, 
doubtless,  survive,  who  were  with  us  then,  but  have  long 
since  drifted  away  to  the  West,  to  the  Pacific  slope,  or  into 
some  other  employment,  and  the  places  that  once  knew  them 
know  them  no  more.  Twenty-six  years  witness  many 
changes,  especially  in  a  city  like  ours,  a  position  like  mine  ; 
and  I  believe  that  the  only  men  who  were  Editors  of  New 
York  dailies  before  me,  and  who  still  remain  such,  are  Mr. 
William  Cullen  Bryant  of  The  Evening  Post,  and  Mr.  James 
Gordon  Bennett  of  The  Herald. 


About  five  hundred  names  of  subscribers  had  already  been 
obtained  for  The  Tribune  —  mainly  by  my  warm  personal  and 
political  friends,  Noah  Cook  and  James  Coggeshall  —  before 
its  first  issue,  whereof  I  printed  five  thousand,  and  nearly 
succeeded  in  giving  away  all  of  them  that  would  not  sell.  I 
had  type,  but  no  presses  ;  and  so  had  to  hire  my  press-work 
done  by  the  "token";  my  folding  and  mailing  must  have 


140  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

staggered  me  but  for  the  circumstance  that  I  had  few  papers 
to  mail,  and  not  very  many  to  fold.  The  lack  of  the  present 
machinery  of  railroads  and  expresses  was  a  grave  obstacle 
to  the  circulation  of  my  paper  outside  of  the  city's  suburbs ; 
but  I  think  its  paid-for  issues  were  two  thousand  at  the  close 
of  the  first  week,  and  that  they  thenceforth  increased  pretty 
steadily,  at  the  rate  of  five  hundred  per  week,  till  they  reached 
ten  thousand.  My  current  expenses  for  the  first  week  were 
about  five  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars;  my  receipts 
ninety-two  dollars ;  and,  though  the  outgoes  steadily,  inevit 
ably  increased,  the  income  increased  in  a  still  larger  ratio,  till 
it  nearly  balanced  the  former.  But  I  was  not  made  for  a 
publisher ;  indeed,  no  man  was  ever  qualified  at  once  to  edit 
and  to  publish  a  daily  paper  such  as  it  must  be  to  live  in 

these  times  ;  and  it  was  not  until  Mr.  Thomas  McElrath 

whom  I  had  barely  known  as  a  member  of  the  publishing 
firm  over  whose  store  I  first  set  type  in  this  city,  but  who 
was  now  a  lawyer  in  good  standing  and  practice  —  made  me 
a  voluntary  and  wholly  unexpected  proffer  of  partnership  in 
my  still  struggling  but  hopeful  enterprise,  that  it  might  be 
considered  fairly  on  its  feet.  He  offered  to  invest  two  thou 
sand  dollars  as  an  equivalent  to  whatever  I  had  in  the  busi 
ness,  and  to  devote  his  time  and  energies  to  its  management, 
on  the  basis  of  perfect  equality  in  ownership  and  in  sharing 
the  proceeds.  This  I  very  gladly  accepted  ;  and  from  that 
hour  my  load  was  palpably  lightened.  During  the  ten  years 
or  over  that  The  Tribune  was  issued  by  Greeiey  &  McElrath, 
iny  partner  never  once  even  indicated  that  my  anti-Slavery, 
^anti-Hanging,  Socialist,  and  other  frequent  aberrations  from 
the  straight  and  narrow  path  of  Whig  partisanship,  were  in 
jurious  to  our  common  interest,  though  he  must  often  have 
sorely  felt  that  they  were  so;  and  never,  except  when  I 
(rarely)  drew  from  the  common  treasury  more  money  than 
could  well  be  spared,  in  order  to  help  some  needy  friend 
whom  he  judged  beyond  help,  did  he  even  look  grieved  at 
anything  I  did.  On  the  other  hand,  his  business  management 
of  the  concern,  though  never  brilliant,  nor  specially  energetic, 


THE  TRIBUNE.  141 

was  so  safe  and  judicious  that  it  gave  me  no  trouble,  and 
scarcely  required  of  me  a  thought,  during  that  long  era  of  all 
but  unclouded  prosperity. 

The  transition  from  my  four  preceding  years  of  incessant  •, 
pecuniary  anxiety,  if  not  absolute  embarrassment,  was  like 
escaping  from  the  dungeon  and  the  rack  to  freedom  and  sym 
pathy.  Henceforth,  such  rare  pecuniary  troubles  as  I  en 
countered  were  the  just  penalties  of  my  own  folly  in  indors 
ing  notes  for  persons  who,  in  the  nature  of  things,  could  not 
rationally  be  expected  to  pay  them.  But  these  penalties  are 
not  to  be  evaded  by  those  who,  soon  after  entering  responsible 
life,  "  go  into  business,"  as  the  phrase  is,  when  it  is  inevitable 
that  they  must  be  thereby  involved  in  debt.  He  who  starts 
on  the  basis  of  dependence  on  his  own  proper  resources,  re 
solved  to  extend  his  business  no  further  and  no  faster  than 
his  means  will  justify,  may  fairly  refuse  to  lend  what  he 
needs  in  his  own  operations,  or  to  indorse  for  others  when  he 
asks  no  one  to  indorse  for  him.  But  you  cannot  ask  favors,^ 
and  then  churlishly  refuse  to  grant  any,  —  borrow,  and  then 
frown  upon  whoever  asks  you  to  lend,  —  seek  indorsements, 
but  decline  to  give  any :  and  so  the  idle,  the  prodigal,  the 
dissolute,  with  the  thousands  foredoomed  by  their  own  de 
fects  of  capacity,  of  industry,  or  of  management,  to  chronic 
bankruptcy,  live  upon  the  earnings  of  the  capable,  thrifty, 
and  provident.  Better  wait  five  years  to  go  into  business 
upon  adequate  means  which  are  properly  your  own,  than  to 
rush  in  prematurely,  trusting  to  loans,  indorsements,  and  the 
forbearance  of  creditors,  to  help  you  through.  I  have  squan 
dered  much  hard-earned  money  in  trying  to  help  others  who 
were  already  past  help,  when  I  not  only  might,  but  should, 
have  saved  most  of  it  if  I  had  never,  needing  help,  sought  and 
received  it.  As  it  is,  I  trust  that  my  general  obligation  has 
been  fully  discharged. 

The  Tribune,  as  it  first  appeared,  was  but  the  germ  of  what 
I  sought  to  make  it.  No  journal  sold  for  a  cent  could  ever 
be  much  more  than  a  dry  summary  of  the  most  important  or 
the  most  interesting  occurrences  of  the  day ;  and  such  is  not 


142  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

a  newspaper,  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  term.  We  need  to 
know,  not  only  what  is  done,  but  what  is  purposed  and  said, 
by  those  who  sway  the  destinies  of  states  and  realms ;  and, 
to  this  end,  the  prompt  perusal  of  the  manifestoes  of  mon- 
archs,  presidents,  ministers,  legislators,  etc.,  is  indispensable. 
No  man  is  even  tolerably  informed  in  our  day  who  does  not 
regularly  "  keep  the  run  "  of  events  and  opinions,  through  the 
daily  perusal  of  at  least  one  good  journal ;  and  the  ready  cavil 
that  "  no  one  can  read  "  all  that  a  great  modern  journal  con 
tains,  only  proves  the  ignorance  or  thoughtlessness  of  the 
caviller.  No  one  person  is  expected  to  take  such  an  interest 
in  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks,  the  markets  for  cotton,  cattle, 
grain,  and  goods,  the  proceedings  of  Congress,  Legislatures, 
and  Courts,  the  politics  of  Europe,  and  the  ever-shifting 
phases  of  Spanish- American  anarchy,  etc.,  etc.,  as  would  in 
cite  him  to  a  daily  perusal  of  the  entire  contents  of  a  metro- 
.,  politan  city  journal  of  the  first  rank.  The  idea  is  rather  to 
embody  in  a  single  sheet  the  information  daily  required  by 
all  those  who  aim  to  keep  "  posted "  on  every  important 
occurrence ;  so  that  the  lawyer,  the  merchant,  the  banker,  the 
forwarder,  the  economist,  the  author,  the  politician,  etc.,  may 
find  here  whatever  he  needs  to  see,  and  be  spared  the  trouble 
of  looking  elsewhere.  A  copy  of  a  great  morning  journal  now 
contains  more  matter  than  an  average  twelvemo  volume,  and 
its  production  costs  far  more,  while  it  is  sold  for  a  fortieth  or 
fiftieth  part  of  the  volume's  price.  There  is  no  other  miracle 
of  cheapness  which  at  all  approaches  it.  The  Electric  Tele 
graph  has  precluded  the  multiplication  of  journals  in  the 
great  cities,  by  enormously  increasing  the  cost  of  publishing 
each  of  them.  The  Tribune,  for  example,  now  pays  more 
than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  per  annum  for  intellectual 
labor  (reporting  included)  in  and  about  its  office,  and  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  more  for  correspondence  and  tele 
graphing, —  in  other  words,  for  collecting  and  transmitting 
news.  And,  while  its  income  has  been  largely  increased  from 
year  to  year,  its  expenses  have  inevitably  been  swelled  even 
more  rapidly;  so  that,  at  the  close  of  1866,  in  which  its 


THE  TRIBUNE.  143 

receipts  had  been  over  nine  hundred  thousand  dollars,  its 
expenses  had  been  very  nearly  equal  in  amount,  leaving  no 
profit  beyond  a  fair  rent  for  the  premises  it  owned  and  occu 
pied.  And  yet  its  stockholders  were  satisfied  that  they  had 
done  a  good  business,  —  that  the  increase  in  the  patronage 
and  value  of  the  establishment  amounted  to  a  fair  interest  on 
their  investment,  and  might  well  be  accepted  in  lieu  of  a 
dividend.  In  the  good  time  coining,  with  cheaper  paper  and  less 
exorbitant  charges  for  "  cable  despatches  "  from  the  Old  World, 
they  will  doubtless  reap  where  they  have  now  faithfully 
sown.  Yet  they  realize  and  accept  the  fact,  that  a  journal 
radically  hostile  to  the  gainful  arts  whereby  the  cunning  and 
powerful  few  live  sumptuously  without  useful  labor,  and  often 
amass  wealth,  by  pandering  to  lawless  sensuality  and  popular 
vice,  can  never  hope  to  enrich  its  publishers  so  rapidly  nor  so 
vastly  as  though  it  had  a  soft  side  for  the  Liquor  Traffic,  and 
for  all  kindred  allurements  to  carnal  appetite  and  sensual 
indulgence.  f 

Fame  is  a  vapor ;  popularity  an  accident ;  riches  take  wings  ; 
the  only  earthly  certainty  is  oblivion;  no  man  can  foresee 
what  a  day  may  bring  forth ;  while  those  who  cheer  to-day 
will  often  curse  to-morrow :  and  yet  I  cherish  the  hope  that 
the  journal  I  projected  and  established  will  live  and  flourish 
long  after  I  shall  have  mouldered  into  forgotten  dust,  being 
guided  by  a  larger  wisdom,  a  more  unerring  sagacity  to  dis 
cern  the  right,  though  not  by  a  more  unfaltering  readiness  to 
embrace  and  defend  it  at  whatever  personal  cost ;  and  that  /"" 
the  stone  which  covers  my  ashes  may  bear  to  future  eyes  the  / 
still  intelligible  inscription,  "  Founder  of  The  New  York 
Tribune." 


XIX. 

SOCIALISM. 

^pHE  Winter  of  1837-38,  though  happily  mild  and  open 
A  till  far  into  January,  was  one  of  pervading  destitution 
and  suffering  in  our  city,  from  paralysis  of  business  and  con 
sequent  dearth  of  employment.  The  liberality  of  those  who 
could  and  would  give  was  heavily  taxed  to  save  from  famish 
ing  the  tens  of  thousands  who,  being  needy  and  unable  to 
find  employment,  first  ran  into  debt  so  far  as  they  could,  and 
thenceforth  must  be  helped  or  starve.  For,  in  addition  to  all 
who  may  be  said  to  belong  here,  legions  of  laborers,  servants, 
etc.,  are  annually  dismissed  in  Autumn  from  the  farms,  coun 
try-seats,  and  watering-places  of  the  suburban  districts,  and 
drift  down  to  the  city,  whence  they  were  mainly  hired ; 
vaguely  hoping  to  find  work  here,  which  a  small  part  of  them 
do  :  the  rest  live  on  the  good-nature  of  relatives,  if  such  they 
have  here,  or  on  credit  from  boarding-houses,  landlords,  or 
grocers,  so  long  as  they  can;  and  then  make  their  choice 
between  roguery  and  beggary,  or  change  from  this  to  that,  or 
take  them  mixed,  as  chance  may  dictate.  Since  the  general 
diffusion  of  railroads  and  the  considerable  extension  of  our 
manufacturing  industry,  business  is  far  more  equable  than  it 
was,  even  in  prosperous  times,  thirty  years  ago ;  but  Winter  is 
still  a  season  of  privation  and  suffering  to  many  thousands 
who  live  in  tolerable  comfort  through  the  warmer  seasons. 
To  say  that  ten  thousand  young  persons  here  annually  take 
their  first  lessons  in  debauchery  and  crime  would  be  to  keep 
quite  within  the  truth;  and,  while  passion,  ignorance,  and 
miseducation  ruin  their  thousands,  I  judge  that  destitution 


SOCIALISM.  145 

flowing  from  involuntary  idleness  sends  more  men  and  women 
to  perdition,  in  this  city,  than  any  other  cause,  —  intemperance 
possibly  excepted. 

I  lived  that  Winter  in  the  Sixth  Ward,  —  then,  as  now, 
eminent  for  filth,  squalor,  rags,  dissipation,  want,  and  misery. 
A  public  meeting  of  its  citizens  was  duly  held  early  in  De 
cember,  and  an  organization  formed  thereat,  by  which  com 
mittees  were  appointed  to  canvass  the  Ward  from  house  to 
house,  collect  funds  from  those  who  could  and  would  spare 
anything,  ascertain  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  existing  des 
titution,  and  devise  ways  and  means  for  its  systematic  relief. 
Very  poor  myself,  I  could  give  no  money,  or  but  a  mite  ;  so  I 
gave  time  instead,  and  served,  through  several  days,  on  one 
of  the  visiting  committees.  I  thus  saw  extreme  destitution 
more  closely  than  I  had  ever  before  observed  it,  and  was 
enabled  to  scan  its  repulsive  features  intelligently.  I  saw 
two  families,  including  six  or  eight  children,  burrowing  in  one 
cellar  under  a  stable,  —  a  prey  to  famine  on  the  one  hand,  and 
to  vermin  and  cutaneous  maladies  on  the  other,  with  sickness 
adding  its  horrors  to  those  of  a  polluted  atmosphere  and  a 
wintry  temperature.  I  saw  men  who  each,  somehow,  sup 
ported  his  family  on  an  income  of  $  5  per  week  or  less,  yet 
who  cheerfully  gave  something  to  mitigate  the  sufferings  of 
those  who  were  really  poor.  I  saw  three  widows,  with  as 
many  children,  living  in  an  attic  on  the  profits  of  an  apple- 
stand  which  yielded  less  than  $  3  per  week,  and  the  landlord 
came  in  for  a  full  third  of  that.  But  worst  to  bear  of  all  was 
the  pitiful  plea  of  stout,  resolute,  single  young  men  and  young 
women  :  "  We  do  not  want  alms  ;  we  are  not  beggars  ;  we  hate 
to  sit  here  day  by  day  idle  and  useless ;  help  us  to  work,  —  we 
want  no  other  help  :  why  is  it  that  we  can  have  nothing  to  do  ? " 

I  pondered  these  scenes  at  intervals  throughout  the  next 
two  or  three  years,  and  was  impelled  thereby  to  write  for  The 
New-Yorker  —  I  think,  in  the  Winter t)f  1839-40  —  a  series 
of  articles  entitled,  "  What  shall  be  done  for  the  Laborer  ? " 
I  believe  these  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr.  Albert  Brisbane, 
a  young  man  of  liberal  education  and  varied  culture,  a  native 
10 


140  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

of  Batavia,  N".  Y.,  which  he  still  regarded  as  his  home,  but 
who  had  travelled  widely  and  observed  thoughtfully  ;  making 
the  acquaintance  in  Paris  of  the  school  of  Socialists  called 
(after  their  founder)  St.  Simonians,  and  that  also  of  Charles 
Fourier,  the  founder  of  a  different  school,  which  had  been 
distinguished  by  his  name.  Robert  Owen,  by  his  experiments 
at  New  Lanark  and  his  "  New  Views  of  Society,"  was  the  first 
in  this  century  to  win  public  attention  to  Socialism,  though 
(I  believe)  Fourier  had  not  only  speculated,  but  written,  before 
either  of  his  co-laborers.  But  Owen  was  an  extensive  and 
successful  manufacturer ;  St.  Simon  was  a  soldier,  and  the  heir 
of  a  noble  family ;  while  Fourier  was  a  poor  clerk,  reserved 
and  taciturn,  whose  hard,  dogmatic,  algebraic  style  seemed 
expressly  calculated  to  discourage  readers  and  repel  adherents  ; 
so  that  his  disciples  were  few  indeed,  down  to  the  date  of  his 
death  in  1837.  Mr.  Brisbane,  returning  not  long  afterward 
from  Europe,  prepared  and  published  his  first  work  —  which 
was  an  exposition  and  commendation  of  Fourier's  industrial 
system  —  in  1840.  My  acquaintance  with  the  author  and  his 
work  commenced  soon  afterward. 

I  sum  up  these  three  competing  projects  of  Social  Reform 
as  follows :  — 

Owen.  —  Place  human  beings  in  proper  relations,  under  fa 
voring  circumstances  (among  which  I  include  Education  and 
Intelligence),  and  they  will  do  right  rather  than  wrong. 
Hitherto,  the  heritage  of  the  great  majority  has  been  filth, 
squalor,  famine,  ignorance,  superstition ;  and  these  have  im 
pelled  many  to  indolence  and  vice,  if  not  to  crime.  Make 
their  external  conditions  what  they  should  be,  and  these  will 
give  place  to  industry,  sobriety,  and  virtue. 

St.  Simon.  —  "  Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law."  Secure  to 
every  one  opportunity ;  let  each  do  whatever  he  can  do  best ; 
and  the  highest  good  of  the  whole  will  be  achieved  and  per 
petuated.  • 

ClFowrierl — Society,  as  we  find  it,  is  organized  rapacity.  Half 
of  its  force  is  spent  in  repressing  or  resisting  the  jealousies 
and  rogueries  of  its  members.  We  need  to  organize  Universal 


SOCIALISM.  147 

Justice  based  on  Science.  The  true  Eden  lies  before,  not 
behind  us.  We  may  so  provide  that  Labor,  now  repulsive, 
shall  be  attractive  ;  while  its  efficiency  in  production  shall 
be  increased  by  the  improvement  of  machinery  and  the  ex 
tended  use  of  natural  forces,  so  as  to  secure  abundance,  edu 
cation,  and  elegant  luxury,  to  all.  What  is  needed  is  to 
provide  all  with  homes,  employment,  instruction,  good  living, 
the  most  effective  implements,  machinery,  &c.,  securing  to 
each  the  fair  and  full  recompense  of  his  achievement;  and 
this  can  best  be  attained  through  the  association  of  so^me  four 
to  five  hundred  families  in  a  common  household,  and  in  th 
ownership  and  cultivation  of  a  common  domain,  say  of  2,00 
acres,  or  about  one  acre  to  each  person  living  thereon. 


I  accept,  unreservedly,  the  views  of  no  man,  dead  or  living. 
"The  master  has  said  it,"  was  never  conclusive  with  me. 
Even  though  I  have  found  him  right  nine  times,  I  do  not 
take  his  tenth  proposition  on  trust ;  unless  that  also  be  proved 
sound  and  rational,  I  reject  it.  But  I  am  convinced,  after 
much  study  and  reflection,  that  the  Social  Eeformers  are  right 
on  many  points,  even  when  clearly  wrong  on  others ;  and  I 
deem  Fourier  —  though  in  many  respects  erratic,  mistaken, 
visionary  —  the  most  suggestive  and  practical  among  them. 
I  accept  nothing  on  his  authority;  for  I  find  many  of  his 
speculations  fantastic,  erroneous,  and  (in  my  view)  pernicious ; 
but  on  many  points  he  commands  my  unreserved  concur 
rence.  Yet  I  prefer  to  set  forth  my  own  Social  creed  rather 
than  his,  even  wherein  mine  was  borroweonromliis teachings  ; 
and  mine  is,  briefly,  as  follows  :  — 

!/)[  believe  that  there  need  be,  and  should  be,  no  paupers 
wficT  are  not  infantile,  idiotic,  or  disabled ;  and  that  civilized 
society  pays  more  for  the  support  of  able-bodied  pauperism 
than  the  necessary  cost  of  its  extirpation. 

II.  I  believe  that  they  babble  idly  and  libel  Providence 
who  talk  of  surplus  Labor,  or  the  inadequacy  of  Capital  to 
supply  employment  to  aU  who  need  it.  Labor  is  often  most 


148  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

^^r 

required  and  best  paid  where  Capital  is  scarcest  (as  was  shown 
in  California  in  1849-50);  and  there  is  always  —  even  in 
China  —  far  more  work  than  hands,  provided  the  ability  to 
devise  and  direct  be  not  wanting.  Where  Labor  stands  idle, 
save  in  the  presence  of  some  great  public  calamity,  there  is  a 
demonstrated  deficiency,  not  of  Capital,  but  of  brains. 

III.  I  believe  that  the  efficiency  of  human  effort  is  enor 
mously,  ruinously  diminished  by  what  I  term  Social  Anarchy. 
That  is  to  say :  "  We  spend  half  our  energies  in  building  fences 
and  providing  safeguards  against  each  other's  roguery,  while 
our  labor  is  rendered  inefficient  and  inadequately  productive 
by  bad  management,  imperfect  implements,  a  deficiency  of 
power  (animal  or  steam),  and  the  inability  of  our  producers 
to  command  and  wield  the  most  effective  machinery.  It  is 
quite  within  the  truth  to  estimate  the  annual  product  of  our 
National  Industry  at  less  than  one  half  what  it  might  be  if 
better  applied  and  directed. 

iy-.'  Inefficiency  in  production  is  paralleled  by  waste  in 
consumption.  Insects  and  vermin  devour  at  least  one  fourth 
of  the  farmer's  harvests,  which  inadequate  fertilizing  and  un 
skilful  cultivation  have  already  reduced  far  below  the  proper 
aggregate.  A  thousand  cooks  are  required,  and  a  thousand 
fires  maintained,  to  prepare  badly  the  food  of  a  township ; 
when  a  dozen  fires  and  a  hundred  cooks  might  do  it  far  better, 
and  with  a  vast  saving  in  quantity  as  well  as  improvement  in 
quality.  [I  judge  that  the  cooks  of  Paris  would  subsist  One 
Million  persons  on  the  food  consumed  or  wasted  by  Six  Hun 
dred  Thousand  in  this  city ;  feeding  them  better  than  they  are 
now  fed,  and  prolonging  their  lives  by  an  average  of  five  years.] 

Y.  Youth  should  be  a  season  of  instruction  in  Industry 
and  the  Useful  Arts,  as  well  as  in  Letters  and  the  Sciences 
mastered  by  their  aid.  Each  child  should  be  trained  to  skill 
and  efficiency  in  productive  Labor.  The  hours  of  children 
should  be  alternately  devoted  to  Labor,  Study,  and  Recreation, 
—  say,  two  hours  to  each  before,  and  a  like  allotment  after, 
dinner  each  secular  day.  Thus  each  child  would  grow  up  an 
adept,  not  merely  in  letters,  but  in  arts,  —  a  skilful  worker  as 


SOCIALISM.  149 

well  as  a  proficient  in  the  lessons  of  the  school-room,  —  able  to 
do  well,  not  one  thing  only,  but  many  things,  —  familiar  with 
mechanical  as  well  as  agricultural  processes,  and  acquainted 
with  the  use  of  steam  and  the  direction  of  machinery.  Not 
till  one  has  achieved  the  fullest  command,  the  most  varied 
use,  of  all  his  faculties  and  powers,  can  he  be  properly  said  to 
be  educated. 

VI.1  Isolation  is  at  war  with  efficiency  and  with  progress. 
As  "iron  sharpeneth  iron,"  so  are  man's  intellectual  and  in 
ventive  faculties  stimulated  by  contact  with  his  fellow-men. 
A  nation  of  herdsmen,  dwelling  in  movable  tents,  invents 
little  or  nothing,  and  makes  no  progress,  or  next  to  none. 
Serfdom  was  the  general  condition  of  the  laboring  class  in 
Europe,  until  aggregation  in  cities  and  manufactories,  dif 
fusing  intelligence,  and  nourishing  aspiration,  wrought  its 
downfall. 

VII.  The  poor  wrork  at  perpetual  disadvantage  in  isolation, 
because  of  the  inadequacy  of  their  means.  Let  us  suppose 
that  four  or  five  hundred  heads  of  families  propose  to  embark 
in  Agriculture.  Each  buys  his  little  farm,  his  furniture,  his 
implements,  animals,  seeds,  fertilizers,  &c.,  &c.,  and  —  though 
he  has  purchased  nothing  that  he  does  not  urgently  need  — 
he  finds  his  means  utterly  exhausted,  and  his  farm  and  future 
exertions  heavily  burdened  by  debt.  He  hopes  and  labors  to 
clear  off  the  mortgage ;  but  flood  and  drouth,  frost  and  fire, 
work  against  him ;  his  poverty  compels  him  to  do  without 
many  implements,  and  to  plough/or  team  with  inadequate  force; 
he  runs  up  an  account  at  the  store,  and  pays  twenty  per  cent, 
extra  for  his  goods,  because  others,  who  buy  on  credit,  fail  to 
pay  at  all ;  and  so  he  struggles  on,  till  his  strength  fails,  and 
he  dies  oppressed  with  debt.  Such  is  the  common  lot. 

VIIp  Association  would  have  these  unite  to  purchase,  in 
habit,  and  cultivate  a  common  domain,  —  say,  of  two  thousand 
acres,  —  whereby  these  advantages  over  the  isolated  system 
would  be  realized  :  — 

1.  One  fourth  (at  most)  of  the  land  required  under  the  old 
system  would  be  found  abundant. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

2.  It  could  be  far  better  allotted  and  appropriated  to  Grain, 
Grass,  Fruits,  Forest,  Garden,  &c. 

3.  The  draught  animals  that  were  far  too  few,  when  dispersed 
among  five  hundred  owners,  on  so  many  different  farms,  would 
be  amply  sufficient  for  a  common  domain. 

4.  Steam  or  water  power  could  now  be  economically  em 
ployed  for  a  hundred  purposes  —  cutting  and  sawing  timber, 
threshing  and  grinding   grain,  ploughing  the  soil,  and   for 
many  household   uses  —  where  the  small   farmer  could  not 
think  of  employing  it. 

5.  Industry  would  find  new  and  powerful  incentives  in  the 
observation  and  praise  or  censure  of  the  entire  community ; 
uniforms,  banners,  and  music,  with  the  rivalry  of  bands  of 
competing  workers,  would   provoke  emulation   and   lighten 
labor;  while  such  recreations  as  dramas,  concerts,  readings, 
&c.,  —  now  utterly  beyond  the  reach  of  rural  workers,  —  would 
give  a  new  zest  to  life.     At  present,  our  youth  escape  from 
rural  industry  when  they  can,  —  not  that  they  really  hate 
work,  but  that  they  find  their  leisure  hours  even  duller  and 
less  endurable  than  those  they  give  to  rugged  toil. 


I  must  devote  another  chapter  to  a  narration  of  my  experi 
ences  as  an  advocate  of  the  views  above  set  forth,  and  a  brief 
account  of  the  efforts  made  within  my  knowledge  to  give  them 
practical  exemplification.  That  these  efforts  resulted  in  fail 
ures  the  world  already  knows  :  I  will  endeavor  to  set  forth 
the  facts  dispassionately,  so  as  to  afford  fair  grounds  for  judg 
ment  as  to  how  far  these  failures  are  due  to  circumstances, 
and  how  far  they  may  be  fairly  charged  to  the  system  itself. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  lay  little  of  the  blame  on  well-abused 
Human  Nature ;  since,  if  any  system  be  ill  adapted  to  Man 
as  we  find  him,  it  may  be  excellently  calculated  for  use  on 
some  other  planet,  but  not  on  this  one. 


XX. 

SOCIALISTIC    EFFORTS. 

THE  propagation  in  this  country  of  Fourier's  ideas  of 
Industrial  Association  was  wholly  pioneered  by  Mr^A. 
Brisbane,  who  presented  them  in  a  series  of  articles  in  The 
TriDune,  beginning  in  1841,  and  running  through  two  or  three 
years.  The  Future  —  a  weekly  entirely  devoted  to  the  sub 
ject  —  was  issued  for  a  few  weeks,  but  received  no  considerable 
support,  and  was  therefore  discontinued.  The  Harbinger,  a 
smaller  weekly,  was  afterward  issued  from  the  Brook  Farm 
Association,  and  sustained  —  not  without  loss  —  for  two  or 
three  years.  Meantime,  several  treatises,  explaining  and 
commending  the  system,  were  published,  —  the  best  of  them 
being  "  Democracy,  Pacific  and  Constructive,"  by  Mr.  Parke 
Godwin,  now  of  The  Evening  Post.  The  problem  was  further 
discussed  in  a  series  of  controversial  letters  between  Mr.  Henry 
J.  Raymond  and  myself.  Thus,  by  persevering  effort,  the 
subject  was  thrust,  as  it  were,  on  public  attention ;  a  few 
zealous  converts  made  to  the  new  ideas,  and  probably  more 
vehement  adversaries  aroused ;  while  the  far  greater  number 
could  not  be  induced  to  read  or  consider,  but  regarded  all 
Socialist  theories  with  stubborn  indifference.  Those  who 
were  in  good  circumstances,  or  hoped  yet  to  be,  wished  no 
such  change  as  was  contemplated  by  the  new  theories ;  the 
ignorant,  stolid  many,  who  endure  lives  of  destitution  and 
squalid  misery,  were  utterly  devoid  of  faith  or  hope,  receiving 
with  profound  incredulity  and  distrust  any  proposal  to  im 
prove  their  condition.  My  observation  justifies  the  belief, 
that  the  most  conservative  of  mankind,  when  not  under  the 


152  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

{influence  of  some  great,  convulsive  uprising  like  the  French 
Kevolution,  are  those  who  have  nothing  to  lose. 

Of  the  practical  attempts  to  realize  our  social  Utopia,  I 
believe  that  known  as  "  Brook  Farm,"  in  Boxbury,  Mass.,  ten 
miles  from  Boston,  was  first  in  the  order  of  time,  and  notable 
in  many  other  respects.  Its  projectors  were  cultivated, 
scholarly  persons,  who  were  profoundly  dissatisfied  with  the 
aims,  as  well  as  the  routine,  of  ordinary  life,  and  who  wel 
comed  in  theoretic  Socialism  a  fairer  and  nobler  ideal.  So 
they  bought  a  cold,  grassy  farm  of  two  hundred  acres,  added 
two  or  three  new  buildings  to  those  which  had  served  the 
last  preceding  owner,  and  bravely  took  possession.  New 
members  joined  from  time,  to  time,  as  others  left;  the  land 
was  improved,  and,  I  believe,  some  was  added ;  boarders  were 
taken  occasionally ;  a  school  was  started^  and  maintained  ;  and 
so  the  concern  fared  on  through  some  five  or  six  years.  But, 
deficient  in  capital,  in  agricultural  skill,  and  in  many  needful 
things  besides,  it  was  never  a  pecuniary  success,  and  was 
filially  given  up  about  1847  or  '48,  — paying  its  debts,  I  un 
derstood,  to  the  last  dime,  but  returning  nothing  to  its  stock 
holders.  I  believe  this  was  the  only  attempt  made  in  New 
England. 

From  this  city,  two  bands  of  Socialist  pioneers  went  forth, 
—  one  to  a  rugged,  lofty  region  in  Pike  County,  Pa.,  five 
miles  from  the  Erie  Ptailroad  at  the  mouth  of  the  Lackawaxen, 
which  they  called  "  Sylvania,"  after  the  State.  The  domain 
here  purchased  was  ample,  —  some  2,300  acres  ;  the  location 
was  healthy,  and  there  was  abundance  of  wTood  and  water. 
But  the  soil  was  stony  and  poor ;  the  altitude  was  such  that 
there  was  a  heavy  frost  on  the  4th  of  July,  1844;  the  mem 
bers  were  generally  very  poor,  and  in  good  part  inefficient 
also  ;  and  the  crops  harvested  were  slender  enough.  I  think 
"Sylvania"  was  founded  early  in  1843,  and  gave  up  the 
ghost  —  having  little  else  to  give  up  —  sometime  in  1845. 
Its  domain  returned  to  the  seller  or  his  assigns,  in  satisfaction 
of  his  mortgage,  and  its  movables  nearly  or  quite  paid  its 
debts,  leaving  its  stock  a  total  loss. 


SOCIALISTIC  EFFORTS.  153 

The  "  North  American  Phalanx  "  had  more  vitality  and  a 
better  location.  The  nucleus  of  its  membership  was  formed 
in  Albany,  though  it  drew  associates  from  every  quarter. 
Several  of  them  were  capable  mechanics,  traders,  and  farmers. 
It  was  located  in  Shrewsbury,  Monmouth  County,  N.  J.,  five 
miles  from  the  dock  at  Eed  Bank,  on  a  farm  of  673  acres, 
originally  good  land,  but  worn  out  by  most  improvident, 
thriftless  cultivation,  so  that  it  was  bought  for  less  than  $  23 
per  acre,  which  was  its  full  value.  But  there  was  an  ample 
bed  of  marl  on  its  eastern  border,  considerable  timber  along 
its  creeks,  two  or  three  very  dilapidated  farm  buildings,  and 
a  few  large,  old  apple-trees,  which  were  just  better  than  none. 
Here  we  few,  but  zealous,  Associationists  of  New  York  and 
its  vicinity  for  a  time  concentrated  our  means  and  our 
efforts  ;  each  subscribing  freely  to  the  capital,  and  then  aiding 
the  enterprise  by  loans  to  nearly  an  equal  amount.  I  think 
the  capital  ultimately  invested  here  (loans  included)  was  fully 
$  100,000,  or  about  one  fourth  the  amount  there  should  have 
been.  By  means  thereof,  a  capacious  wooden  dwelling,  one 
or  two  barns,  and  a  fruit-house  were  erected,  thousands  of 
loads  of  marl  dug  and  applied  to  the  land,  large  orchards  were 
planted  and  reared  to  maturity,  and  a  mile  square  of  sterile, 
exhausted  land  converted  into  a  thrifty  and  productive  do 
main.  The  experiment  was  finally  abandoned,  on  the  heel 
of  a  heavy  loss  sustained  in  the  burning  of  our  fruit-house, 
which,  with  some  other  set-backs,  discouraged  some  of  the 
best  associates,  and  caused  them  to  favor  a  dissolution.  There 
was  no  pecuniary  failure,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the 
term.  The  property  was  sold  out  at  auction,  —  the  domain 
in  tracts  of  ten  to  eighty  acres,  —  and,  though  it  brought  not 
more  than  two  thirds  of  its  cash  value,  every  debt  was  paid, 
and  each  stockholder  received  back  about  65  per  cent,  of  his 
investment  with  interest.  I  reckon  that  not  many  stock 
holders  in  gold-mines  or  oil-wells  can  show  a  better  result. 
(I  can  speak  of  gold-mines  from  personal  experience ;  oil- 
wells —  being  older  when  they  came  into  vogue  —  I  have 
carefully  kept  out  of.)  As  I  recollect,  the  "  North  American 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Phalanx"  was  founded  in  1843,  and  wound  up  about  1850, 
when  I  think  no  sister  Association  was  left  to  deplore  its  fate. 
Its  means  had  been  larger,  its  men  and  women,  in  the  average, 
more  capable  and  devoted,  than  those  of  any  rival ;  if  it  could 
not  live,  there  was  no  hope  for  any  of  them. 
^^  A  serious  obstacle  to  the  success  of  any  Socialist  experi 
ment  must  always  be  confronted.  I  allude  to  the  kind  of 
persons  who  are  naturally  attracted  to  it.  Along  with  many 
noble  and  lofty  souls,  whose  impulses  are  purely  philanthropic, 
and  who  are  willing  to  labor  and  suffer  reproach  for  any  cause 
that  promises  to  benefit  mankind,  there  throng  scores  of 
whom  the  world  is  quite  worthy, — the  conceited,  the  crotchety, 
the  selfish,  the  headstrong,  the  pugnacious,  the  unappreciated, 
the  played-out,  the  idle,  and  the  good-for-nothing  generally ; 
who,  finding  themselves  utterly  out  of  place  and  at  a  discount 
in  the  world  as  it  is,  rashly  conclude  that  they  are  exactly 
fitted  for  the  world  as  it  ought  to  be.  These  may  have  failed 
again  and  again,  and  been  protested  at  every  bank  to  which 
they  have  been  presented ;  yet  they  are  sure  to  jump  into  any 
new  movement,  as  if  they  had  been  born  expressly  to  super 
intend  and  direct  it,  though  they  are  morally  certain  to  ruin 
whatever  they  lay  their  hands  on.  Destitute  of  means,  of 
practical  ability,  of  prudence,  tact,  and  common  sense,  they 
have  such  a  wealth  of  assurance  and  of  self-confidence  that  they 
clutch  the  responsible  positions,  which  the  capable  and  worthy 
modestly  shrink  from :  so  responsibilities  that  would  tax  the 
ablest  are  mistakenly  devolved  on  the  blindest  and  least  fit. 
Many  an  experiment  is  thus  wrecked,  when,  engineered  by 
its  best  members,  it  might  have  succeeded.  I  judge  not  what 
may  be  done  and  borne  by  a  mature,  thoroughly  organized 
Association  ;  but  a  pioneer,  half-fledged  experiment  —  lacking 
means,  experience,  edifices,  everything  —  can  bear  no  extra 
weight,  but  needs  to  be  composed  of,  and  directed  by,  most 
efficient,  devoted,  self-sacrificing  men  and  women. 

That  there  have  been  —  nay,  are  —  decided  successes  in 
practical  Socialism,  is  undeniable ;  but  they  all  have  that 
Communistic  basis  which  seems  to  me  irrational,  and  calcu- 


SOCIALISTIC  EFFORTS.  155 

lated  to  prove  fatal.  I  cannot  conceive  it  just,  that  an  asso 
ciate  who  invests  $  100,000  should  stand  on  an  equal  footing, 
so  far  as  property  is  concerned,  with  one  who  brings  nothing 
to  the  common  fund ;  nor  can  I  see  why  an  ingenious,  efficient 
mechanic,  whose  services  are  worth  $  5  per  day,  should  receive 
no  more  of  the  annual  product  than  an  ignorant  ditcher,  who 
can  at  best  earn  but  $  2  per  day.  To  my  mind,  every  one  is 
fairly  entitled  to  what  he  has  earned,  and  to  what  he  shall 
earn,  unless  he  chooses  to  bestow  it  011  some  one  else  ;  and  I 
hold,  with  Fourier,  that  Communism  must  destroy  individual 
liberty.  Credit  me  on  the  books  with  what  I  invested,  and 
what  I  have  since  earned  or  otherwise  added  to  the  common 
wealth;  and,  if  I  choose  to  spend  my  day  with  a  visiting 
friend,  or  go  off  for  a  week's  fishing,  it  is  no  one's  business 
but  my  own.  But,  say  that  all  we  have  and  all  we  make  are 
common  property,  wherein  each  has  rightfully  an  equal  in 
terest,  and  I  shall  feel  morally  bound  to  do  my  share  of  the 
work,  and  shall  be  dissatisfied  when  others  palpably  do  less 
than  I  do.  Hence,  I  can  easily  account  for  the  failure  of 
Communism,  —  at  New  Harmony,  and  in  several  other  experi 
ments  ;  I  cannot  so  easily  account  for  its  successes.  Yet  the 
fact  stares  us  in  the  face,  that,  while  hundreds  of  banks  and 
factories,  and  thousands  of  mercantile  concerns  managed  by 
shrewd,  strong  men,  have  gone  into  bankruptcy  and  perished, 
Shaker  Communities,  established  more  than  sixty  years  ago, 
upon  a  basis  of  little  property  and  less  worldly  wisdom,  are 
living  and  prosperous  to-day.  And  their  experience  has  been 
imitated  by  the  German  Communities  at  Economy,  Pa.,  Zoar, 
Ohio,  the  Society  of  Ebenezer,  &c.,  &c.  Theory,  however 
plausible,  must  respect  the  facts. 

I  once  visited  the  Society  of  Ebenezer,  when  it  was  located 
on  lands  seven  miles  from  Buffalo,  not  long  before  surrendered 
by  the  Tonawanda  Indians.  The  members  were  nearly  all 
Prussians,  led  by  a  rich  nobleman,  who  had  invested  his  all 
in  the  common  fund,  and  led  his  followers  to  this  country, 
where  they  first  located  near  Buffalo  as  aforesaid,  but  have 
since  sold,  and  migrated  to  cheaper  land,  away  from  any  great 


156  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

city,  in  Iowa.  I  did  not  see  the  "  head  centre,"  but  the  second 
man  was  from  the  Zoar  Community,  and  I  had  a  free  talk 
with  him,  part  of  which  (in  substance)  is  worth  recalling :  — 

"  What  do  you  do  with  lazy  people  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  We  have  none,"  he  promptly  replied.  "  We  have  often 
disciplined  members  for  working  too  hard  and  too  long ;  for, 
whatever  the  world  may  think  of  us,  we  profess  to  be  asso 
ciated  for  spiritual  edification,  not  temporal  gain ;  and  we  do 
not  desire  our  people  to  become  absorbed  in  drudgery  and 
money-getting." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  I  persisted ;  "  but  suppose  you  had  a 
lazy  member :  how  would  you  treat  him  ?  How  does  your 
discipline  provide  for  the  possible  contingency  of  his  attaining 
to  the  membership  of  your  body  ? " 

"  In  this  way  only :  we  are  a  brotherhood  and  sisterhood 
for  spiritual,  not  temporal,  ends.  Our  temporal  relations  are 
a  consequence  of  our  spiritual  union.  For  spiritual  growth 
and  improvement,  we  are  divided  into  four  classes,  according 
to  our  presumed  religious  advancement  respectively.  If,  then, 
a  member  of  the  fourth  (highest)  class  were  to  evince  a  lazy, 
shirking  disposition,  he  would,  after  some  private  admonition, 
be  reported  by  that  class  to  the  next  general  meeting,  as  not 
sufficiently  developed,  or  endued  with  Divine  grace,  for  that 
class ;  and,  on  that  report,  he  would  be  reduced  to  the  third 
class.  If,  after  due  probation,  he  should  evince  a  slothful 
spirit  there,  he  would  be  reported  by  tJiat  class,  as  he  had 
been  by  the  higher ;  and,  on  this  report,  be  reduced  to  the 
second  class ;  and,  on  the  report  of  this,  in  like  manner,  to 
the  first  or  lowest  class,  —  that  which  includes  young  children 
and  all  wholly  undeveloped  natures.  Theoretically,  this  would 
be  our  course ;  we  know  no  further  or  other  discipline  than 
this  :  practically,  no  occasion  for  such  discipline  has  arisen. 
We  often  discipline  members  for  working  too  much  or  too 
persistently ;  never  for  working  too  little." 

I  do  not  believe  men  naturally  lazy ;  but  I  judge  that  they 
prefer  to  receive  the  fair  recompense  of  their  labor,  —  to  work 
for  themselves  and  those  dear  to  them,  rather  than  for  him- 


SOCIALISTIC  EFFORTS. 

dreds,  if  not  thousands,  whom  they  scarcely  know  by  sight, 
I  believe  in  Association,  or  Cooperation,  or  whatever  name 
may  be  given  to  the  combination  of  many  heads  and  hands 
to  achieve  a  beneficent  result,  which  is  beyond  the  means  of 
one  or  a  few  of  them ;  for  I  perceive  that  vast  economies,  and 
vastly  increased  efficiency,  may  .thus  be  secured ;  T  reject 
Communism  as  at  war  with  one  of  the  strongest  and  most 
universal  instincts,  —  that  which  impels  each  worker  to  pro- 
\luce  and  save  for  himself  and  his  own.  Yet  Eeligion  often 
makes  practicable  that  which  were  else  impossible,  and  Divine 
Love  triumphs  where  Human  Science  is  baffled.  Thus  I  in 
terpret  the  past  successes  and  failures  of  Socialism. 

Cooperation  —  the  combination  of  some  hundreds  of  pro- 
ducers  to  dispose  of  their  labor  or  its  fruits,  or  of  consumers 
in  like  manner  to  supply  their  common  wants  of  food,  &c. 
more  economically  and  satisfactorily  than  by  individual  pur 
chases  from  markets,  stalls,  or  stores  —  is  one-sided,  frag 
mentary  Association.  Its  advantages  are  signal,  obvious,  im 
mediate  ;  its  chief  peril  is  the  rascality  of  the  agent,  treasurer, 
or  manager,  whom  it  is  obliged  to  trust.  As  it  involves  no 
decided,  radical  change  of  habits  and  usages,  it  is  destined  to 
achieve  an  early  success,  and  thus  to  pioneer  further  and 
more  beneficent  reforms.  It  has  already  won  signal  triumphs 
in  sober,  practical  England;  it  is  winning  the  intellectual 
assent  of  earnest,  meditative  Germany.  I  shall  be  sorely 
disappointed  if  this  Nineteenth  Century  does  not  witness  its 
very  general  adoption  as  a  means  of  reducing  the  cost  and 
increasing  the  comfort  of  the  poor  man's  living.  It  ought  to 
add  twenty-five  per  cent,  to  the  average  income  of  the  thriftier 
half  of  the  laboring,  class  ;  while  its  advantages  are  free  to  all 
with  whom  economy  is  an  object.  And  even  above  its  direct 
advantages  I  prize  the  habits  of  calculation,  of  foresight,  of 
saving  which  it  is  calculated  to  foster  and  promote  among 
those  who  accept  its  principle  and  enjoy  its  more  material 
blessings. 

With  a  firm  and  deep  religious  basis,  any  Socialistic  scheme 
may  succeed,  though  vicious  in  organization,  and  at  war  with 


158  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Human  Nature,  as  I  deem  Shaker  Communism,  and  the 
antagonist  or  "Free  Love"  Community  of  Perfectionists  at 
Oneida,  N.  Y.  Without  a  basis  of  religious  sympathy  and 
religious  aspiration,  it  will  always  be  difficult,  though,  I  judge, 
not  impossible.  Even  the  followers  of  Comte,  the  swallowers 
of  his  Pantheistic  fog,  will  yet  be  banded  or  melted  into  com 
munities,  and  will  endeavor  to  realize  the  exaltation  of  Work 
into  Worship,  with  a  degree  of  success  to  be  measured  by  the 
individual  characters  of  the  associates.  And  every  effort  to 
achieve  through  Association  a  less  sordid,  fettered,  grovelling 
life,  will  have  a  positive  value  for  the  future  of  mankind, 
however  speedy  and  utter  its  failure.  I  deem  it  impossible 
that  beings  born  in  the  huts  and  hovels  of  isolated  society, 
feebly,  ineffectively  delving  and  grubbing  through  life  on  the 
few  acres  immediately  surrounding  each  of  them,  shall  there 
attain  the  full  stature  of  perfect  manhood.  They  are  dwarfed, 
stunted,  shrivelled,  by  their  petty  avocations  and  shabby  sur 
roundings,  —  by  the  seeming  necessity  which  constrains  them 
to  bend  their  thoughts  and  energies  to  the  achievement  of 
narrow,  petty,  paltry  ends.  Our  dwellings,  our  fields,  our 
farms,  our  industries,  all  tend  to  belittle  us  ;  the  edifice  which 
shall  yet  lodge  commodiously  and  agreeably  two  thousand 
persons,  giving  each  the  requisite  privacy  and  independence, 
though  as  yet  unconstructed,  is  not  a  chimera ;  no  more  is 
the  prosecution  of  agricultural  and  other  labor  by  large  bands, 
rendered  picturesque  by  uniforms,  and  inspired  by  music. 
That  "  many  hands  make  light  work  "  is  an  old  discovery ;  it 
shall  yet  be  proved  that  the  combined  efforts  of  many  workers 
make  Labor  efficient  and  ennobling,  as  well  as  attractive.  In 
modern  society,  all  things  tend  unconsciously  toward  grand, 
comprehensive,  pervading  reforms.  The  steamboat,  the  rail- 
car,  the  omnibus,  are  but  blind  gropings  toward  an  end  which, 
unpremeditated,  shall  yet  be  attained ;  in  the  order  of  Nature, 
nothing  ultimately  resists  an  economy;  and  the  sceptical, 
sneering  world  shall  yet  perceive  and  acknowledge  that,  in 
many  important  relations,  and  not  merely  in  one,  "  It  is  not 
good  for  Man  to  be  alone." 


XXI. 

HARRY    CLAY. 

JOHN  TYLEE  succeeded  General  Harrison  in  the  Presi 
dency.  He  was  called  a  Whig  when  elected  Vice-Pres- 
ident ;  I  think  he  never  called  hinlself,  nor  wished  others 
to  call  him  so,  from  the  day  on  which  he  stepped  into  our 
dead  President's  shoes.  At  all  events,  he  contrived  soon  to 
quarrel  with  the  great  body  of  those  whose  efforts  and  votes 
had  borne  him  into  power.  If  he  cried  at  Harrisburg  over 
Mr.  Clay's  defeat,  Mr.  Clay's  friends  had  abundant  reason  to 
cry  ever  afterward  over  Tyler's  success  there.  He  vetoed 
the  bill  chartering  a  new  United  States  Bank ;  and,  having 
himself  sketched  the  plan  of  a  substitute,  and  given  it  a  name, 
he,  when  Congress  passed  it,  vetoed  that.  He  having  inherited 
General  Harrison's  cabinet,  this  veto  compelled  its  members  to 
resign;  Mr.  Webster,  as  Secretary  of  State,  lingering  for 
months  after  all  the  rest  had  left ;  but  he,  too,  had  to  go  at 
last;  and  Mr.  Tyler  stood  forth  an  imbittered,  implacable 
enemy  of  the  party  which  had  raised  him  from  obscurity  and 
neglect  to  the  pinnacle  of  power.  Men  always  hate  those 
they  have  wronged ;  and  Mr.  Tyler  fairly  detested  those  he 
had  betrayed.  Before  he  had  been  a  year  in  power,  he  was 
in  full,  though  covert,  alliance  with  the  Democrats,  and  figur 
ing  for  their  next  Presidential  nomination.  But  such  as  he 
are  often  used,  never  trusted. 

Of  course,  the  blighting  of  the  fond  hopes  of  the  Whigs, 
and  the  transfer  to  their  adversaries  of  the  power  and  patron 
age  they  had  so  arduously  won,  were  disastrous.  Their  plun 
der-seekers  went  over  to  the  adversary ;  their  favorite  meas- 


160  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

ures  were  defeated,  and  their  energies  paralyzed :  so  State 
after  State  deserted  their  standard.  New  York,  which  had 
proved  herself  Whig  at  every  State  election  held  under  Van 
Buren's  administration,  went  strongly  Democratic  at  the  very 
first  held  under  Tyler's,  and  remained  so  at  the  two  following. 
Two  thirds,  if  not  three  fourths,  of  the  States  were  carried 
against  us  in  the  State  elections  of  1841,  '42,  '43. 

On  the  1st  of  May,  1844,  a  Whig  National  Convention 
assembled  in  Baltimore.  The  venerable  Ambrose  Spencer,  of 
New  York,  then  nearly  eighty  years  old,  presided.  Henry 
Clay  was  nominated  for  President  without  a  dissenting  voice, 
and  with  rapturous  enthusiasm.  Theodore  Frelinghuysen,  of 
New  Jersey,  was,  after  a  spirited  contest,  presented  for  Vice- 
President.  The  delegates  separated  in  undoubting  confidence 
that  their  choice  would  be  ratified  by  the  people. 

The  Democratic  Convention  met  in  the  same  city  soon 
afterward.  A  large  majority  of  the  delegates  had  been  ex 
pressly  instructed  to  nominate  Martin  Van  Buren  for  Pres 
ident,  and  such  was  the  undoubted  preference  of  the  Demo 
cratic  masses.  But  many  of  the  managing  politicians  had 
other  views.  Some  of  them  had  rival  personal  aspirations ; 
and  these  thought  two  chances  for  the  Presidency  enough  for 
one  person,  even  though  he  had  but  once  succeeded.  A  good 
many  were  tired  of  the  New  York  ascendency,  and  eager  for 
a  change.  The  question  of  annexing  Texas  —  of  which  more 
hereafter  —  had  been  so  manipulated  as  to  render  many 
Southern  politicians  bitterly,  actively  hostile  to  Mr.  Van 
Buren,  who  had  taken  ground  adverse  to  annexation  under 
the  existing  circumstances.  Hence,  when  the  Convention 
met,  a  resolve  was  introduced  and  passed  requiring  the  vote 
of  two  thirds  of  the  delegates  to  nominate  a  candidate.  Van 
Buren's  pledged  majority  was  thus  rendered  of  no  avail ;  and 
soon,  as  the  ballotings  progressed,  delegate  after  delegate 
dropped  away  from  him,  until  at  length  his  remaining  and 
earnest  supporters,  in  order  to  defeat  Cass,  Buchanan/and 
Woodbury,  went  over  in  a  body  to  James  K.  Polk,  of  Ten 
nessee,  and  nominated  him  on  the  forty-fourth  ballot.  Silas 


HARRY  CLAY.  161 

Wright,  of  New  York,  was  quite  unanimously  named  for 
Vice-President ;  but  he  declined,  and  George  M.  Dallas,  of 
Pennsylvania,  was  set  up  in  his  stead. 

Mr.  Polk  was  a  man  of  moderate  abilities,  faultless  private 
character,  and  undeviating  Jacksonism.  He  had  briefly  but 
positively  avowed  himself  an  advocate  of  the  immediate  An 
nexation  of  Texas.  He  had  once  been  chosen  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Representatives,  and  once  Governor  of  Tennessee ; 
being  beaten,  when  he  stood  for  reelection,  by  Colonel  James 
C.  Jones,  the  Whig  candidate.  The  suggestion  that  such  a 
man,  whose  very  name  was  unknown,  up  to  the  hour  of  his 
nomination,  by  a  majority  of  those  whose  votes  he  must  obtain 
if  he  were  to  be  elected,  should  be  pitted  against  the  world- 
known  and  admired  Harry  Clay,  was  deemed  the  height  of 
absurdity.  And  not  only  did  multitudes  of  Whigs  deem  the 
nomination  of  Polk  a  virtual  surrender  at  discretion,  but  many 
Democrats  privately  cherished  a  similar  conviction.  The 
canvass,  which  opened  at  once  with  unusual  spirit  and  deter 
mination,  soon  undeceived  them.  Yet  I  think  I  do  not  err 
in  stating  that  thousands  supported  Mr.  Polk  who  intended 
only  to  maintain  their  standing  in  the  Democratic  party, 
while  they  neither  expected  nor  wished  to  defeat  Mr.  Clay's 
election. 

The  early  nomination  of  Silas  Wright  for  Governor  of  our 
State  added  immensely  to  Mr.  Polk's  strength.  He  was 
widely  known  as  a  life-long  friend  and  devoted  follower  of 
Mr.  Van  Buren,  and  his  refusal  to  be  placed  second  on  the 
Polk  ticket  had  increased  his  popularity  with  those  who  felt 
as  he  did.  It  soon  became  evident  that  the  party  would  be 
substantially  united  on  its  National  nominees,  —  united  rather 
by  their  common  hostility  to  Mr.  Clay  than  by  their  devotion 
to  his  competitor.  A  few  eminent  New  York  Democrats 
issued  what  was  called  a  secret  circular,  advising  their  friends 
to  vote  for  Polk  and  Dallas,  but  to  be  careful  to  send  members 
to  Congress  who  would  oppose  to  the  last  the  Annexation  of 
Texas.  This  recommendation  was  not  followed.  Those  Demo 
crats  who  disliked  Annexation  generally  held  their  peace; 
11 


162  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Silas  Wright,  in  two  or  more  campaign  speeches,  proclaimed 
that  Annexation  should  only  take  place  under  conditions  that 
gave  Free  Labor  equal  advantages  with  Slave  from  the  acqui 
sition.  In  the  event,  though  the  repugnance  to  Annexation 
at  the  North  had  been  strong  and  general,  Mr.  Polk  lost  very 
few  Democratic  votes  on  account  of  it,  though  his  support  of 
the  measure  was  open  and  unequivocal.  Mr.  Clay,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  always  clearly  hostile  to  the  Tyler  or  any 
kindred  project, —  to  any  scheme  of  immediate,  unconditional 
Annexation  without  the  prior  consent  of  Mexico,  —  yet  wrote 
several  letters  on  the  subject  that  served  to  embarrass  his, 
friends  and  encourage  his  foes.  He  explained  that  he  did 
not  object  to  Annexation  because  of  Slavery,  which  he  re 
garded  as  temporary,  while  the  acquisition  of  Texas  would  be 
permanent,  and,  under  fit  circumstances,  desirable.  These 
letters  were  written  to  two  different  friends  in  Alabama,  and 
were  probably  not  intended  for  publication,  —  at  all  events, 
they  should  not  have  been  published.  They  gave  Mr.  Clay's 
opponents  plausible  grounds  for  saying  that  he  was  dissatisfied 
with  his  position  before  the  public,  and  anxious  to  change  it ; 
they  embarrassed  his  many  friends  who  did  object  to  Annexa 
tion  on  anti-Slavery  grounds ;  and  they  did  not  help  him 
anywhere.  Alabama  and  all  the  planting  States  went  against 
him,  —  all  but  Georgia  and  Louisiana  heavily  so.  He  would 
have  been  stronger  with  the  people  if  he  had  stood  on  his 
letter  written  from  Ealeigh,  N.  C.,  before  his  nomination, 
which  was  sufficiently  full  and  explicit.  A  candidate  for  a 
high  elective  office  can  hardly  be  too  sparing  of  personal 
manifestoes  and  explanations. 

On  the  other  great  issue  of  the  canvass  —  the  Tariff —  Mr. 
Clay's  position  was  unquestionable.  He  was  for  Protection 
as  a  cardinal  feature  of  a  beneficent  National  policy,  and  he 
was  especially  in  favor  of  the  Protective  Tariff  of  1842,  then 
just  fairly  in  operation,  and  giving  profitable  employment  to 
much  hitherto  dormant  labor,  not  only  in  existing  mines, 
furnaces,  factories,  &c.,  but  in  opening  new  mines,  and  in 
erecting  and  fitting  up  many  more  furnaces  and  factories. 


HARRY  CLAY.  163 

The  country  had  unquestionably  been  poor,  its  industry  par 
alyzed,  its  revenue  deficient,  when  that  Tariff  was  enacted ; 
the  subsequent  change  had  been  signal  and  rapid,  and  the 
Whi^s  believed  and  insisted  that  the  Protection  and  the  Pros- 

O 

perity  stood  to  each  other  in  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect. 
Our  opponents,  of  course,  denied  the  relation :  they  could  not 
plausibly  deny  the  facts.  And  their  metropolitan  organ,  — 
The  Globe,  —  which  issued  a  prospectus  for  campaign  sub 
scribers,  in  which  Protection  and  the  Tariff  were  fiercely  as 
sailed,  circulated  in  Pennsylvania  a  revised  and  expurgated 
edition,  from  which  the  anti-Tariff  fulmination  was  carefully 
expunged. 

Nor  was  this  the  worst.  Mr.  Polk  had  been  for  years  in 
Congress,  and  had  always  voted  there  against  Protection,  as 
all  Southern  Democrats  had  voted  since  1828.  He  was  as 
much  a  Free-Trader  in  his  votes  as  Mr.  Calhoun  had  been  ever 
since  1824.  And  yet  he  was  induced  by  the  exigencies  of 
the  canvass  in  Pennsylvania  to  write  (or  sign)  the  following 
letter :  — 

COLUMBIA,  TENN.,  June  19,  1844. 

DEAR  SIR  :  I  have  received  recently  several  letters  in  reference 
to  my  opinions  on  the  subject  of  the  Tariff,  and,  among  others, 
yours  of  the  10th  ultimo.*  My  opinions  on  this  subject  have  been 
often  given  to  the  public.  They  are  to  be  found  in  my  public 
acts,  and  in  the  public  discussions  in  which  I  have  participated.  I 
am  in  favor  of  a  tariff  for  revenue,  —  such  a  one  as  will  yield  a 
sufficient  amount  to  the  Treasury  to  defray  the  expenses  of  Gov 
ernment,  economically  administered.  In  adjusting  the  details  of 
a  revenue  tariff,  I  have  heretofore  sanctioned  such  moderate  dis 
criminating  duties  as  would  produce  the  amount  of  revenue  needed, 
and  at  the  same  time  afford  incidental  protection  to  our  home 
industry.  I  am  opposed  to  a  tariff  for  protection  merely,  and  not 
for  revenue.  Acting  upon  these  general  principles,  it  is  well  known 
that  I  gave  my  support  to  the  policy  of  General  Jackson's  admin 
istration  on  this  subject.  I  voted  against  the  tariff  act  of  1828. 
I  voted  for  the  act  of  1832,  which  contained  modifications  of  some 
of  the  objectionable  provisions  of  the  act  of  1828.  As  a  member 

*  Never  given  to  the  public.  —  H.  G. 


164  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

of  the  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means  of  the  House  of  Representa 
tives,  I  gave  my  assent  to  the  bill  reported  by  that  committee  in 
December,  1832,  making  further  modifications  of  the  act  of  1828, 
and  making  also  discriminations  in  the  imposition  of  the  duties 
which  it  proposed.  That  bill  did  not  pass,  but  was  superseded  by 
the  bill  commonly  called  the  Compromise  Bill,  for  which  I  voted. 
In  my  judgment,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  government  to  extend,  as 
far  as  it  may  be  practicable  to  do  so,  by  its  revenue  laws  and  all 
other  means  within  its  power,  fair  and  just  protection  to  all  the 
great  interests  of  the  whole  Union,  embracing  Agriculture,  Manu 
factures,  and  the  Mechanic  Arts,  Commerce,  and  Navigation.  I 
heartily  approve  the  resolutions  upon  this  subject  passed  by  the 
Democratic  National  Convention,  lately  assembled  at  Baltimore. 
I  am,  with  great  respect,  dear  sir, 

Your  ob't  serv't, 

JAMES  K.  POLK. 
JOHN  K.  KANE,  Esq.,  Philadelphia. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  see  that  this  was  an  elaborate 
attempt  to  darken  counsel  so  as  to  break  the  force  of  the 
Tariff  issue,  which  was  telling  strongly  against  him  wherever 
Protection  was  the  favorite  policy,  and  especially  in  intensely, 
and  all  but  unanimously,  Protective  Pennsylvania.  The  Whigs 
had  felt  confident  of  carrying  Pennsylvania  on  the  Tariff 
issue  in  her  State  (October)  election,  and  thereupon  carrying, 
not  her  only,  but  New  York  and  other  doubtful  States,  at  the 
Presidential 'election  in  November;  but  this  letter  enabled 
those  who  saw  fit  to  insist  that  Polk  was  as  much  a  Tariff 
man  as  Clay,  and  thereupon  to  override  us  by  appeals  to 
Pennsylvania's  Democratic  and  Jackson  prepossessions.  A 
remarkably  clever  and  subtle  speech  by  Silas  Wright,  at 
Watertown,  N.  Yr.,  aided  this  effort.  Mr.  Wright  had  voted 
in  Congress  for  both  the  Tariffs  of  1828  and  1842,  — the  two 
most  Protective  of  any  ever  yet  passed.  Yet  he  assailed  the 
latter,  not  in  principle,  but  in  detail ;  arguing  that  it  favored 
the  woollen  manufacturer  at  the  expense  of  the  wool-grower, 
by  admitting  cheap,  coarse  foreign  wool  -at  a  low  rate  of  duty. 
All  our  efforts  to  make  a  distinct  issue,  and  obtain  a  popular 
decision  as  between  Protection  and  Free  Trade  respectively, 


HARRY  CLAY.  165 

were  thus  baffled  ;  and,  while  every  Free-Trader  went  against 
us,  —  Gulian  C.  Verplanck  leaving  us  expressly  on  that  ground, 
-  we  lost  the  votes  of  thousands  of  Protectionists,  who  were 
unfairly  induced  to  believe  Polk  as  much  a  Protectionist  as 
Clay  !  A  "  Native  American  "  movement,  which  had  originat 
ed  in  the  Fall  of  1843  among  the  native  Democrats  of  this 
city,  who  revolted  against  what  they  considered  a  monopoly 
of  office  by  our  foreign-born  population,  had  extended  to,  and 
almost  absorbed,  the  Whig  voters  of  this  and  other  cities,  — 
New  York  and  Philadelphia  being  both  swept  by  it  in  the 
Spring  of  '44.  The  first  impression  that  Mr.  Clay  would  gain 
more  than  he  would  lose  by  this  side-wind  was  not  justified 
by  the  result ;  as  the  Presidential  contest  grew  hotter  and 
hotter,  the  Democratic  Natives  returned  to  their  old  standard, 
while  immigrants  by  tens  of  thousands  were  naturalized  ex 
pressly  to  vote  against  Nativism,  and  all  their  votes  told 
against  us,  as  did  those  of  thousands  more  who  managed  to 
vote  without  awaiting  naturalization.  Hence  we  failed  to 
elect  our  Governor  in  Pennsylvania  by  4,397  majority,  —  the 
vote  standing:  Shunk,  160,759;  Markle,  156,352;  and  of 
course  failed  to  carry  the  State  at  the  following  Presidential 
election,  when  Polk  had  167,535  to  161,203  for  Clay;  and, 
as  Pennsylvania  then  voted  on  the  Friday  before  our  election, 
which  commenced  on  the  following  Monday  and  continued 
till  Wednesday  night,  —  the  weight  of  that  State's  vote  against 
us  fell  heavily  on  New  York,  and,  by  the  help  of  a  heavy 
illegal  vote  in  this  city,  barely  carried  her  against  us;  the 
votes  cast  being:  Polk,  237,588;  Clay,  232,482;  and  Birney 
(Abolition),  15,812.  I  think  we  should  have  had  at  least  half 
of  that  Birney  vote  for  Clay,  and  made  him  President  (for  he 
only  needed  the  vote  of  New  York),  in  spite  of  all  other  draw 
backs,  but  for  those  fatal  Alabama  letters.  And  the  result  in 
Michigan  was  likewise  decided  by  the  Birney  vote;  while 
Louisiana  was  lost  by  the  scandalous  "  Plaquemine "  frauds, 
-a  parish  which  had  given  179  Democratic  to  93  Whig 
votes  in  '42  giving  1,007  Democratic  to  but  37  Whig  in  '44 : 
the  voters  coming  down  from  New  Orleans  on  a  steamboat, 


166  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  pouring  in  their  illegal  ballots  with  scarcely  a  fig-leaf  of 
decency.  Polk  carried  that  State  by  699  majority ;  and  he 
had  970  in  Plaquemines,  where  he  was  entitled  to  200  at 
most.  As  it  was,  we  carried  for  Mr.  Clay  the  States  of  Ver 
mont,  Massachusetts,  Rhode  Island,  Connecticut,  New  Jer 
sey,  Delaware,  Maryland,  Ohio,  North  Carolina,  Kentucky, 
and  Tennessee, —  11  in  all,  casting  105  electoral  votes ;  while 
Mr.  Folk's  electors  were  chosen  in  fifteen  States,  casting  170 
votes.  And,  so  close  was  the  contest  throughout,  that  Mr. 
Clay  had  in  the  whole  Union  1,288,533  popular  votes  to 
1,327,325  for  Mr.  Polk :  Polk's  majority,  38,792.  Mr.  Birney 
had  in  all  62,263  votes :  so  that  Mr.  Polk  was  preferred  by  a 
plurality,  not  a  majority,  of  the  entire  people.  But  that  did 
not  affect  the  fact  nor  the  validity  of  his  election. 

I  have  admired  and  trusted  many  statesmen :  I  profoundly 
loved  Henry  Clay.  Though  a  slaveholder,  he  was  a  champion 
of  Gradual  Emancipation  when  Kentucky  formed  her  first 
State  Constitution  in  his  early  manhood ;  and  he  was  openly 
the  same  when  she  came  to  revise  it,  half  a  century  later. 
He  was  a  conservative  in  the  true  sense  of  that  much-abused 
term:  satisfied  to  hold  by  the  present  until  he  could  see 
clearly  how  to  exchange  it  for  the  better;  but  his  was  no 
obstinate,  bigoted  conservatism,  but  such  as  became  an  intel 
ligent  and  patriotic  American.  From  his  first  entrance  into 
Congress,  he  had  been  a  zealous  and  effective  champion  of 
Internal  Improvements,  the  Protection  of  Home  Industry,  a 
sound  and  uniform  National  Currency,  —  those  leading  fea 
tures  of  a  comprehensive,  beneficent  National  policy  which 
commanded  the  fullest  assent  of  my  judgment  and  the  best 
exertions  of  my  voice  and  pen.  I  loved  him  for  his  generous 
nature,  his  gallant  bearing,  his  thrilling  eloquence,  and  his 
life-long  devotion  to  what  I  deemed  our  country's  unity,  pros 
perity,  and  just  renown.  Hence,  from  the  day  of  his  nomina 
tion  in  May  to  that  of  his  defeat  in  November,  I  gave  every 
i  hour,  every  effort,  every  thought,  to  his  election.  My  wife 
j  and  then  surviving  child  (our  third)  spent  the  Summer  at  a 
\  farm-house  in  a  rural  township  of  Massachusetts,  while  I 


HARRY  CLAY.  167 

gave  heart  and  soul  to  the  canvass.  I  travelled  and  spoke 
much  ;  I  wrote,  I  think,  an  average  of  three  columns  of  The 
Tribune  each  secular  day;  and  I  gave  the  residue  of  the 
hours  I  could  save  from  sleep  to  watching  the  canvass,  and 
doing  whatever  I  could  to  render  our  side  of  it  more  effective. 
Very  often,  I  crept  to  my  lodging  near  the  office  at  2  to  3 
A.M.,  with  my  head  so  heated  by  fourteen  to  sixteen  hours  of 
incessant  reading  and  writing,  that  I  could  only  win  sleep  by 
means  of  copious  affusions  from  a  shower-bath ;  and  these, 
while  they  probably  saved  me  from  a  dangerous  fever,  brought 
out  such  myriads  of  boils,  that  —  though  I  did  not  heed  them 
till  after  the  battle  was  fought  out  and  lost  —  I  was  covered 
by  them  for  the  six  months  ensuing,  often  fifty  or  sixty  at 
once,  so  that  I  could  contrive  no  position  in  which  to  rest, 
but  passed  night  after  night  in  an  easy-chair.  And  these 
unwelcome  visitors  returned  to  plague  me,  though  less  se 
verely,  throughout  the  following  Winter.  I  have  suffered  from 
their  kindred  since,  but  never  as  I  did  from  their  young  luxu 
riance  in  that  Winter  of  '44-45. 

Looking  back  through  almost  a  quarter  of  a  century  on 
that  Clay  canvass  of  1844,  I  say  deliberately  that  it  should 
not  have  been  lost,  —  that  it  need  not  have  been.  True,  there 
was  much  good  work  done  in  it,  but  not  half  so  much  as  there 
should  have  been.  I,  for  example,  was  in  the  very  prime  of 
life,  —  thirty-three  years  old,  —  and  knew  how  to  write  for 
newspaper ;  and  I  printed  in  that  canvass  one  of  the  most 
effective  daily  political  journals  ever  yet  issued.  It  was  sold 
for  two  cents ;  and  it  had  15,000  daily  subscribers  when  the 
canvass  closed.  It  should  have  had  100,000  from  the  first 
day  onward;  and  my  Clay  Tribune  —  a  campaign  weekly, 
issued  six  months  for  fifty  cents  —  should  have  had  not  less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  million.  And  those  two  issues,  wisely 
and  carefully  distributed,  could  not  have  failed  to  turn  the 
long-doubtful  scale  in  favor  of  Mr.  Clay's  election.  Of  course, 
I  mean  that  other  effective,  devoted  journals  should  also  have 
been  systematically  disseminated,  until  every  voter  who  could 
and  would  read  a  Whig  journal  had  been  supplied  with  one, 
even  though  he  had  paid  nothing  for  it.  A  quarter  of  a  million 


168  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Campaign  Tribunes  would  have  cost  at  most  8 125,000 ;  and 
there  were  single  houses  largely  engaged  in  mining  or  manu 
facturing  who  were  damaged  more  than  that  amount  by  Mr. 
Clay's  defeat,  and  the  consequent  repeal  of  the  Tariff  of  '42. 
There  should  have  been  $  1,000,000  raised  by  open  subscrip 
tion  during  the  week  in  which  Mr.  Clay  was  nominated,  and 
every  dime  of  it  judiciously,  providently  expended  in  furnish 
ing  information  touching  the  canvass  to  the  voters  of  New 
York,  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsylvania.  To  put  a  good,  effi 
cient  journal  into  the  hands  of  every  voter  who  will  read  it 
is  the  true  mode  of  prosecuting  a  political  canvass ;  meetings 
and  speeches  are  well  enough,  but  this  is  indispensable.  Mr. 
Clay  might  have  been  elected,  if  his  prominent,  earnest  sup 
porters  had  made  the  requisite  exertions  and  sacrifices ;  and  I 
cannot  but  bitterly  feel  that  great  and  lasting  public  calami 
ties  would  thereby  have  been  averted. 


Mr.  Clay,  born  in  poverty  and  obscurity,  had  not  even  a 
common-school  education,  and  had  only  a  few  months'  clerk 
ship  in  a  store,  with  a  somewhat  longer  training  in  a  lawyer's 
office,  as  preparation  for  his  great  career.  Tall  in  person, 
though  plain  in  features,  graceful  in  manner,  and  at  once 
dignified  and  affable  in  bearing,  I  think  his  fervid  patriotism 
and  thrilling  eloquence  combined  with  decided  natural  abili 
ties  and  a  wide  and  varied  experience  to  render  him  the 
American  more  fitted  to  win  and  enjoy  popularity  than  any 
other  who  has  lived.  That  popularity  he  steadily  achieved 
and  extended  through  the  earlier  half  of  his  long  public  life  ; 
but  he  was  now  confronted  by  a  political  combination  well- 
nigh  invincible,  based  on  the  potent  personal  strength  of 
General  Jackson  ;  and  this  overcame  him.  Five  times  pre 
sented  as  a  candidate  for  President,  he  was  always  beaten,  — 
twice  in  conventions  of  his  political  associates,  thrice  in  the 
choice  of  electors  by  the  people.  The  careless  reader  of  our 
history  in  future  centuries  will  scarcely  realize  the  force  of 
his  personal  magnetism,  nor  conceive  how  millions  of  hearts 
glowed  with  sanguine  hopes  of  his  election  to  the  Presidency, 
and  bitterly  lamented  his  and  their  discomfiture. 


XXII. 

MARGARET    FULLER. 

THE  year  1840  —  rendered  notable  by  the  Harrison  can 
vass  —  was  signalized  by  several  less  noisy  reactions 
and  -uprisings  against  prescription  and  routine.  One  of  these 
made  itself  manifest  in  the  appearance  at  Boston  of  The  Dial, 
—  the  quarterly  utterance  of  a  small  fraternity  of  scholars 
and  thinkers,  who  had  so  far  outgrown  the  recognized  stand 
ards  of  orthodox  opinion  in  theology  and  philosophy  as  to  be 
grouped,  in  the  vague,  awkward  terminology  of  this  stammer 
ing  century,  as  Transcendentalists.  Inexcusably  bad  as  the 
term  is,  it  so  clearly  indicates  an  aspiration,  a  tendency,  as 
contradistinguished  from  a  realization,  an  achievement,  that 
it  may  be  allowed  to  stand.  Those  to  whom  it  was  applied 
had  alike  transcended  the  preexisting  limitations  of  decorous 
and  allowable  thinking ;  but  they  were  alike  in  little  else. 
The  chosen  editor  of  this  magazine  was  SARAH  MARGARET 
FULLER,  while  Ealph  Waldo  Emerson  and  George  Eipley 
were  announced  as  her  associates.  After  a  time,  Mr.  Emer 
son  became  the  editor,  with  his  predecessor  as  his  chief  as 
sistant,  but  there  was  in  reality  little  change;  and,  while 
others  contributed  to  its  pages,  The  Dial,  throughout  the  four 
or  five  years  of  its  precarious  existence,  was  chiefly  regarded 
and  valued  as  an  expression  and  exponent  of  the  ideas  and 
convictions  of  these  two  rarest,  if  not  ripest,  fruits  of  New 
England's  culture  and  reflection  in  the  middle  of  the  Nine 
teenth  Century.  The  original  editor  was  to  have  been  paid 
a  salary  of  two  hundred  dollars  per  annum,  had  the  sale  of 
the  work  justified  so  liberal  a  stipend ;  but  I  believe  it  never 


170  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

did.  What  was  purposed  by  its  projectors  is  thus  stated  in 
one  of  her  private  letters  :  — 

"  A  perfectly  free  organ  is  to  be  offered  for  the  expression  of 
individual  thought  and  character.  There  are  no  party  measures 
to  be  carried,  no  particular  standard  to  be  set  up.  A  fair,  calm 
tone,  a  recognition  of  universal  principles,  will,  I  hope,  pervade 
the  essays  in  every  form.  I  trust  there  will  be  a  spirit  neither  of 
dogmatism  nor  of  compromise ;  and  that  this  journal  will  aim,  not 
at  leading  public  opinion,  but  at  stimulating  each  man  to  judge 
for  himself,  and  to  think  more  deeply  and  more  nobly,  by  letting 

him  see  how  some  minds  are  kept  alive  by  a  wise  self-trust 

We  cannot  show  high  culture,  and  I  doubt  about  vigorous  thought. 
But  we  shall  manifest  free  action  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  a  high  aim. 
It  were  much  if  a  periodical  could  be  kept  open,  not  to  accomplish 
any  outward  object,  but  merely  to  afford  an  avenue  for  what  of 
liberal  and  calm  thought  might  be  originated  among  us,  by  the 
wants  of  individual  minds." 

I  presume  the  circulation  of  The  Dial  never  reached  two 
thousand  copies,  and  that  it  hardly  averaged  one  thousand. 
But  its  influence  and  results  are  nowise  measured  by  the 
number  of  its  patrons,  nor  even  of  its  readers.  To  the  "  fit 
audience,  though  few,"  who  had  long  awaited  and  needed  its 
advent,  without  clearly  comprehending  their  need,  it  was  like 
manna  in  the  wilderness  ;  and  scores  of  them  found  in  its 
pages  incitement  and  guidance  to  a  noble  and  beneficent,  even 
though  undistinguished,  career. 

S.  MARGARET  FULLER,  the  eldest  child  of  Timothy  and 
Margaret  Crane  Fuller,  was  born  at  Cambridgeport,  Mass.,  on 
the  23d  of  May,  1810.  Her  father  was  a  lawyer  of  hum- 
.ble  origin,  who  had  risen,  by  force  of  resolution  and  industry, 
to  a  respectable  position  at  the  Boston  bar,  though  he  was  a 
Eepublican,  and  all  the  wealth  and  business  of  that  city  were 
intensely  Federal ;  and  he  ultimately  represented  in  Congress, 
for  several  terms,  the  Middlesex  district  adjacent.  This  did 
not  increase  his  popularity  nor  his  professional  gains  in  Bos 
ton  ;  so  that,  when  he  died  of  cholera  (Oct.  2,  1835),  after 
a  life  of  labor  and  frugality,  he  left  but  a  narrow  competence 


MARGARET  FULLER.  171 

to  his  widow  and  large  family  of  mainly  young,  dependent 
children. 

But  that  widow  was  a  woman  of  signal  excellence  of  soul 
and  life.  He  was  well  established  in  practice,  and  must  have 
been  ten  or  fifteen  years  at  the  bar  when  he  met  her,  —  a 
young  girl  of  humble  family  and  little  education,  but  of  rare 
beauty,  physical  and  mental ;  and,  falling  in  love  with  her  at 
sight,  sought  her  acquaintance,  wooed,  won,  and  married  her. 
And,  though  she  never  found  time  for  extensive  study,  her 
natural  refinement  was  such  that  the  deficiencies  of  her  edu 
cation  were  seldom  or  never  perceptible. 

Her  eldest  daughter  was  too  early  stimulated  to  protracted, 
excessive  mental  labor  by  her  fond,  exacting,  ambitious  fa 
ther,  justly  proud  of  her  great  natural  powers,  and  ignorant 
of  the  peril  of  overtaxing  them.  I  have  heard  that,  when  but 
eight  years  old,  she  had  her  "  stint "  of  so  many  Latin  verses 
to  compose  per  day,  ready  to  recite  to  him  on  his  return  to 
their  suburban  home  from  his  day's  work  in  the  city.  This 
may  be  idle  gossip ;  I  only  know  that,  when  I  first  made  her 
acquaintance,  she  was,  mentally,  the  best  instructed  woman 
in  America  ;  while  she  was,  physically,  one  of  the  least  envi 
able,  —  a  prey  to  spinal  affliction,  nervous  disorder,  and  pro 
tracted,  fearfully  torturing  headaches.  Those  who  knew  her 
in  early  youth  have  assured  me  that  she  was  then  the  picture 
of  rude  health,  —  red-cheeked,  robust,  vigorous,  and  comely, 
if  not  absolutely  beautiful.  Too  much  of  this  was  sacrificed 
to  excessive  study.  Her  near  friend  and  literary  associate, 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  gives  this  account  of  his  first  impres 
sions  of  her  in  her  early  prime  of  womanhood,  ten  years  be 
fore  I  met  her :  — 

"  I  still  remember  the  first  half-hour  of  Margaret's  conversation. 
She  was  then  twenty-six  years  old.  She  had  a  face  and  frame  that 
would  indicate  fulness  and  tenacity  of  life.  She  was  rather  under 
the  middle  height ;  her  complexion  was  fair,  with  strong,  fair  hair. 
She  was  then,  as  always,  carefully  and  becomingly  dressed,  and  of 
lady-like  self-possession.  For  the  rest,  her  appearance  had  noth 
ing  prepossessing.  Her  extreme  plainness,  a  trick  of  incessantly 


172  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

opening  and  shutting  her  eyelids,  the  nasal  tones  of  her  voice,  all 
repelled  ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  We  shall  never  get  far.'  It  is  to 
be  said  that  Margaret  made  a  disagreeable  first  impression  on 
most  persons,  including  those  who  became  afterward  her  best 
friends,  to  such  an  extreme  that  they  did  not  wish  to  be  in  the 
same  room  with  her.  This  was  partly  the  effect  of  her  manners, 
which  expressed  an  overweening  sense  of  power,  and  slight  esteem 
of  others ;  and  partly  the  prejudice  of  her  fame.  She  had  a  dan 
gerous  reputation  for  satire,  in  addition  to  her  great  scholarship. 
The  men  thought  she  carried  too  many  guns,  and  the  women  did 
not  like  one  who  despised  them.  I  believe  I  fancied  her  too  much 
interested  in  personal  history  ;  and  her  talk  was  a  comedy,  in 
which  dramatic  justice  was  done  to  everybody's  foibles.  I  remem 
ber  that  she  made  me  laugh  more  than  I  liked ;  for  I  was,  at  that 
time,  an  eager  scholar  of  ethics,  and  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  soli 
tude  and  stoicism,  and  I  found  something  profane  in  the  hours  of 
amusing  gossip  into  which  she  drew  me ;  and,  when  I  returned  to 
my  library,  had  much  to  think  of  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a 
pot." 

Her  beloved  and  loving  cousin,  Rev.  William  H.  Chan- 
ning,  in  his  account  of  a  visit  he  paid  her,  somewhat  lat 
er,  when  she  lived  at  Jamaica  Plain,  near  Boston,  in  1840, 
says :  — 

"  As,  leaning  on  one  arm,  she  poured  out  her  stream  of  thought, 
turning  now  and  then  her  full  eyes  upon  me  to  see  whether  I 
caught  her  meaning,  there  was  leisure  to  study  her  thoroughly. 
Her  temperament  was  predominantly  what  the  physiologist  would 
call  nervous-sanguine ;  and  the  gray  eye,  rich  brown  hair,  and 
light  complexion,  with  the  muscular  and  well-developed  frame, 
bespoke  delicacy  balanced  by  vigor.  Here  was  a  sensitive  yet 
powerful  being,  fit  at  once  for  rapture  or  sustained  effort,  intensely 
active,  prompt  for  adventure,  firm  for  trial.  She  certainly  had  no 
beauty ;  yet  the  high-arched  dome  of  her  head,  the  changeful 
expressiveness  of  every  feature,  and  her  whole  air  of  mingled  dig 
nity  and  impulse,  gave  her  a  commanding  charm.  Especially 
characteristic  were  two  physical  traits.  The  first  was  a  contraction 
of  the  eyelids  almost  to  a  point,  —  a  trick  caught  from  near-sight 
edness,  —  and  then  a  sudden  dilation,  till  the  iris  seemed  to 


MARGARET  FULLER.  173 

emit  flashes,  —  an  effect,  no  doubt,  dependent  on  her  highly 
magnetized  condition.  The  second  was  a  singular  pliancy  of  the 
vertebra  and  muscles  of  the  neck,  enabling  her,  by  a  mere  move 
ment,  to  denote  each  varying  emotion ;  in  moments  of  tenderness, 
or  pensive  feeling,  its  curves  were  swan-like  in  grace  ;  but,  when 
she  was  scornful  or  indignant,  it  contracted,  and  made  swift  turns, 
like  that  of  a  bird  of  prey.  Finally,  in  the  animation,  yet  abandon, 
of  Margaret's  attitude  and  look,  were  rarely  blended  the  fiery 
course  of  northern,  and  the  soft  languor  of  southern  races." 


Margaret  Fuller. 

Such  a  woman  could  not  live  idly,  especially  in  diligent, 
practical  New  England,  even  had  she  been  shielded  by  for 
tune  from  the  most  obvious  necessity  for  habitual  industry. 
After  the  completion  of  her  school-day  education,  and  before 
undertaking  the  editorship  of  The  Dial,  she  had  taught  classes 
of  girls  in  her  home,  given  two  years  to  the  conduct  of  a  sem 
inary  in  Providence,  E.  I.  (for  which  she  was  never  paid), 
had  translated  (in  1839)  Eckermann's  "Conversations  with 
Goethe,"  and  in  the  autumn  of  this  year  she  planned  and  an 
nounced  her  most  unique  enterprise,  —  a  series  of  con  versa- 


174  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

tions  (in  Boston),  for  women  only,  wherein  she  was  to  take  a 
leading  part ;  but  every  one  who  attended  was  required  to 
contribute  according  to  her  ability,  by  written  essay  or  spoken 
word,  as  should  be  suggested  or  found  possible.  The  general 
object  of  these  conferences,  as  declared  in  her  programme,  was 
to  supply  answers  to  these  questions  :  "  What  were  we  born 
to  do  ? "  and  "  How  shall  we  do  it  ? "  or  (as  I  think  she  else 
where  said),  "  to  vindicate  the  right  of  Woman  to  think,"  by 
showing  that  she  can  think  nobly  and  to  good  purpose ;  but 
Life,  Literature,  Mythology,  Art,  Culture,  Eeligion,  were  lib 
erally  drawn  upon  for  material  and  stimulus  in  the  progress 
of  this  most  arduous  undertaking. 

But  Margaret  had  higher  qualifications  for  such  a  task  than 
any  other  person  that  America  had  yet  produced,  being  "  the 
best  talker  since  De  Stael,"  as  I  once  heard  her  characterized. 
And,  as  the  ablest  and  most  cultivated  women  in  and  around 
Boston  were  naturally  attracted  to  her  conversations,  and  in 
cited  to  take  part  in  them,  I  doubt  not  that  they  were  more 
interesting  and  profitable  than  any  intellectual  exercises  which 
had  preceded  them ;  and,  while  the  attendance  was  necessarily 
limited,  —  averaging  less  than  fifty  persons,  —  there  are  still 
many  living  who  gratefully  recall  them  as  the  starting-point 
and  incitement  of  a  new  and  nobler  existence.  Yet  an  at 
tempt  by  Margaret  to  extend  their  advantages  to  men  proved 
a  failure  ;  and,  even  when  repeated  under  the  guidance  of  so 
eminent  a  conversationist  as  Mr.  A.  Bronson  Alcott,  I  judge 
that  no  decided  success  was  achieved. 

In  1839,  she  had  visited,  with  a  party  of  friends,  what  was 
then  "  the  Great  W^est " ;  spending  weeks  in  traversing  the 
prairies  of  Illinois,  as  yet  undeformed  by  fences  and  un vexed 
by  the  plough.  Her  observations  and  impressions,  embodied 
in  a  volume  entitled  "  Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  evinced  an  un- 
American  ripeness  of  culture,  and  a  sympathetic  enjoyment 
of  Nature  in  her  untamed  luxuriance.  But  the  alternating 
meadow  and  forest  of  that  bounteous  region  in  its  primitive 
state  evinced  little  of  the  rugged  wildness  of  mountain  or 
desert ;  and  she  remarked  that  it  seemed  a  reproduction, 


MARGARET  FULLER.  175 

though  on  a  gigantic  scale,  and  without  enclosures,  of  the 
great  baronial  domains  and  parks  of  Europe;  so  that  the 
traveller  was  constantly  looking  for  the  castles  and  other  evi 
dences  of  human  occupation  and  enjoyment  which,  it  seemed, 
must  be  just  at  hand.  Half  a  century  hence,  Illinoians  will 
read  her  book,  and  wonder  if  the  region  it  vividly  depicts  and 
describes  can  indeed  be  identical  with  that  which  surrounds 
them. 

But  the  work  by  which  she  will  be  longest  and  widest 
known  first  appeared  in  The  Dial  (1843)  as  "  The  Great  Law 
suit,"  and,  when  afterward  expanded  into  a  separate  volume, 
was  entitled,  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  If  not 
the  clearest  and  most  logical,  it  was  the  loftiest  and  most 
commanding  assertion  yet  made  of  the  right  of  Woman  to  be 
regarded  and  treated  as  an  independent,  intelligent,  rational 
being,  entitled  to  an  equal  voice  in  framing  and  modifying 
the  laws  she  is  required  to  obey,  and  in  controlling  and  dis 
posing  of  the  property  she  has  inherited  or  aided  to  acquire. 
Yet  questions  of.  property,  personal  rights,  guardianship  of 
children,  &c.,  are  but  incidental,  not  essential.  She  says  :  — 

"  It  is  the  fault  of  MARRIAGE,  and  of  the  present  relations  be 
tween  the  sexes,  that  the  woman  belongs  to  the  man,  instead  of 

forming  a  whole  with  him Woman,  self-centred,  would 

never  be  absorbed  by  any  relation ;  it  would  only  be  an  experience 
to  her,  as  to  Man.  It  is  a  vulgar  error,  that  love  —  a  love  —  is  to 
Woman  her  whole  existence  :  she  also  is  born  for  Truth  and  Love 
in  their  universal  energy.  Would  she  but  assume  her  inheritance, 
Mary  would  not  be  the  only  virgin  mother." 

If  you  say  this  is  vague,  mystical,  unmeaning,  I  shall  not 
contradict  you ;  I  am  not  arguing  that  Woman's  undoubted 
wrongs  are  to  be  redressed  by  the  concession  of  what  Mar 
garet,  or  any  of  her  disciples,  has  claimed  as  Woman's  in 
herent  rights ;  I  only  feel  that  hers  is  the  ablest,  bravest, 
broadest,  assertion  yet  made  of  what  are  termed  Woman's 
Eights ;  and  I  suspect  that  the  statement  might  lose  in  force 
by  gaining  in  clearness.  And,  at  all  events,  I  am  confident 
that  there  lives  no  man  or  woman  who  would  not  profit  (if 


176  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

he  or  she  has  not  already  profited)  by  a  thoughtful  perusal  of 
"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century." 

My  wife,  having  spent  much  time  in  and  near  Boston,  had 
there  made  Margaret's  acquaintance,  attended  her  conversa 
tions,  accepted  her  leading  ideas ;  and,  desiring  to  enjoy  her 
society  more  intimately  and  continuously,  Mrs.  G.  planned 
and  partly  negotiated  an  arrangement  whereby  her  monitor 
and  friend  became  an  inmate  of  our  family  and  a  writer  for 
The  Tribune. 


Up  to  the  close  of  the  Presidential  canvass  in  1844,  I  had 
lived  thirteen  years  in  New  York,  and  never  half  a  mile 
from  the  City  Hall,  —  usually  within  sixty  rods  of  it.  The 
newspaper  business  requiring  close  attention,  and  being  wholly 
prosecuted  "  down  town,"  it  seemed,  when  I  once  ventured  to 
live  so  far  up  as  Broome  Street,  that  I  had  strayed  to  an 
inconvenient  distance  from  my  work;  but,  when  the  great 
struggle  was  over,  and  I  the  worst  beaten  man  on  the  conti 
nent,  —  worn  out  by  incessant  anxiety  and  effort,  covered  with 
boils,  and  thoroughly  used  up,  —  I  took  a  long  stride  landward, 
removing  to  a  spacious  old  wooden  house,  built  as  a  country 
or  summer  residence  by  Isaac  Lawrence,  formerly  President 
of  the  United  States  Branch  Bank,  but  which,  since  his  death, 
had  been  neglected,  and  suffered  to  decay.  It  was  located  on 
eight  acres  of  ground,  including  a  wooded  ravine,  or  dell,  on 
the  East  Paver,  at  Turtle  Bay,  nearly  opposite  the  southern 
most  point  of  Blackwell's  Island,  amid  shade  and  fruit  trees, 
abundant  shrubbery,  ample  garden,  &c. ;  and,  though  now  for 
years  perforated  by  streets,  and  in  good  part  covered  by  build 
ings,  was  then  so  secluded  as  to  be  only  reached  by  a  narrow, 
devious,  private  lane,  exceedingly  dark  at  night  for  one  accus 
tomed  to  the  glare  of  gas-lamps ;  the  nearest  highway  being 
the  old  "  Boston  Eoad  "  at  Forty-ninth  Street ;  while  an  hourly 
stage  on  the  Third  Avenue,  just  beyond,  afforded  our  readiest 
means  of  transit  to  and  from  the  city  proper.  Accustomed  to 
the  rumble  and  roar  of  carriages,  the  stillness  here  at  night 
seemed  at  first  so  sepulchral,  unearthly,  that  I  found  difficulty 


MARGARET  FULLER.  177 

in  sleeping.  Of  the  place  itself,  Margaret  —  who  became  one 
of  our  household  soon  after  we  took  possession  —  wrote  thus 
to  a  friend  :  — 

"  This  place  is,  to  me,  entirely  charming ;  it  is  so  completely  in 
the  country,  and  all  around  is  so  bold  and  free.  It  is  two  miles 
or  more  from  the  thickly  settled  parts  of  New  York,  but  omnibuses 
and  cars  give  me  constant  access  to  the  city;  and,  while  I  can 
readily  see  what  and  whom  I  will,  I  can  command  time  and  retire 
ment.  Stopping  on  the  Harlem  Road,  you  enter  a  lane  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  long,  and,  going  by  a  small  brook  and  pond  that 
locks  in  the  place,  and  ascending  a  slightly  rising  ground,  get  sight 
of  the  house,  which,  old-fashioned  and  of  mellow  tint,  fronts  on  a 
flower-garden  filled  with  shrubs,  large  vines,  and  trim  box  borders. 
On  both  .sides  of  the  house  are  beautiful  trees,  standing  fair,  full- 
grown,  and  clear.  Passing  through  a  wide  hall,  you  come  out  upon 
a  piazza  stretching  the  whole  length  of  the  house,  where  one  can 
walk  in  all  weathers ;  and  thence,  by  a  step  or  two,  on  a  lawn, 
with  picturesque  masses  of  rocks,  shrubs,  and  trees,  overlooking 
the  East  River.  Gravel-paths  lead,  by  several  turns,  down  the 
steep  bank  to  the  water's  edge,  where,  round  the  rocky  point,  a 
small  bay  curves,  in  which  boats  are  lying ;  and,  owing  to  the  cur 
rents  and  the  set  of  the  tide,  the  sails  glide  sidelong,  seeming  to 
greet  the  house  as  they  sweep  by.  The  beauty  here,  seen  by 
moonlight,  is  truly  transporting.  I  enjoy  it  greatly,  and  the  genus 
loci  receives  me  as  to  a  home." 


"We  have  seen  that  the  first  impressions  made  by  Margaret, 
even  on  those  who  soon  learned  to  admire  her  most,  were  not 
favorable ;  and  it  was  decidedly  so  in  my  case.  A  sufferer 
myself,  and  at  times  scarcely  able  to  ride  to  and  from  the 
office,  I  yet  did  a  day's  work  each  day,  regardless  of  nerves  or 
moods ;  but  she  had  no  such  capacity  for  incessant  labor:  If 
quantity  only  were  considered,  I  could  easily  write  ten  columns 
to  her  one :  indeed,  she  would  only  write  at  all  when  in  the 
vein ;  and  her  headaches  and  other  infirmities  often  precluded 
all  labor  for  days.  Meantime,  perhaps,  the  interest  of  the 
theme  had  evaporated,  or  the  book  to  be  reviewed  had  the 
12 


178  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

bloom  brushed  from  its  cheek  by  some  rival  journal.  Attend 
ance  and  care  were  very  needful  to  her ;  she  would  evidently 
have  been  happier  amid  other  and  more  abundant  furniture 
than  graced  our  dwelling ;  and,  while  nothing  was  said,  I  felt 
that  a  richer  and  more  generous  diet  than  ours  would  have 
been  more  accordant  with  her  tastes  and  wishes.  Then  I  had 
a  notion  that  strong-minded  women  should  be  above  the 
weakness  of  fearing  to  go  anywhere,  at  any  time,  alone,  —  that 
the  sex  would  have  to  emancipate  itself  from  thraldom  to 
etiquette  and  the  need  of  a  masculine  arm  in  crossing  a  street 
or  a  room,  before  it  could  expect  to  fight  its  way  to  the  bar, 
the  bench,  the  jury-box,  and  the  polls.  Nor  was  I  wholly 
exempt  from  i!he  vulgar  prejudice  against  female  claimants  of 
functions  hitherto  devolved  only  on  men,  as  mistaking  the 
source  of  their  dissatisfaction.  Her  cousin,  Channing,  narrat 
ing  a  day's  conversation  with  her  in  1840,  delicately  says  :  — 

"  But  the  tragedy  of  Margaret's  history  was  deeper  yet.  Behind 
the  poet  was  the  woman,  —  the  fond  and  relying,  the  heroic  and 
disinterested  woman.  The  very  glow  of  her  poetic  enthusiasm  was 
but  an  outflush  of  trustful  affection ;  the  very  restlessness  of  her 
intellect  was  the  confession  that  her  heart  had  found  no  home. 
A  *  book-worm,'  'a  dilettante,'  a  '  pedant,'  I  had  heard  her  sneeringly 
called ;  but  now  it  was  evident  that  her  seeming  insensibility  was 
virgin  pride,  and  her  absorption  in  study  the  natural  vent  of  emo 
tions  which  had  met  no  object  worthy  of  life-long  attachment. 
At  once,  many  of  her  peculiarities  became  intelligible.  Fitfulness, 
unlooked-for  changes  of  mood,  misconceptions  of  words  and  actions, 
substitution  of  fancy  for  fact,  —  which  had  annoyed  me  during  the 
previous  season,  as  inconsistent  in  a  person  of  such  capacious  judg 
ment  and  sustained  self-government,  —  were  now  referred  to  the 
morbid  influence  of  affections  pent  up  to  prey  upon  themselves." 

If  /  had  attempted  to  say  this,  I  should  have  somehow 
blundered  out  that,  noble  and  great  as  she  was,  a  good  hus 
band  and  two  or  three  bouncing  babies  would  have  emanci 
pated  her  from  a  deal  of  cant  and  nonsense. 

Yet  I  very  soon  noted,  even  before  I  was  prepared  to  ratify 
their  judgment,  that  the  women  who  visited  us  to  make  or 


MARGARET  FULLER.  179 

improve  her  acquaintance  seemed  instinctively  to  recognize 
and  defer  to  -her  as  their  superior  in  thought  and  culture. 
Some  who  were  her  seniors,  and  whose  writings  had  achieved 
a  far  wider  and  more  profitable  popularity  than  hers,  were 
eager  to  sit  at  her  feet,  and  to  listen  to  her  casual  utterances 
as  to  those  of  an  oracle.  Yet  there  was  no  assumption  of 
precedence,  no  exaction  of  deference,  on  her  part ;  for,  though 
somewhat  stately  and  reserved  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 
110  one  "thawed  out"  more  completely,  or  was  more  un 
starched  and  cordial  in  manner,  when  surrounded  by  her 
friends.  Her  magnetic  sway  over  these  was  marvellous,  un 
accountable  :  women  who  had  known  her  but  a  day  revealed 
to  her  the  most  jealously  guarded  secrets  of  their  lives,  seek 
ing  her  sympathy  and  counsel  thereon,  and  were  themselves 
annoyed  at  having  done  so  when  the  magnetism  of  her  pres 
ence  was  withdrawn.  I  judge  that  she  was  the  repository  of 
more  confidences  than  any  contemporary ;  and  I  am  sure  no 
one  had  ever  reason  to  regret  the  imprudent  precipitancy  of 
their  trust.  Nor  were  these  revelations  made  by  those  only 
of  her  own  plane  of  life,  but  chambermaids  and  seamstresses 
unburdened  their  souls  to  her,  seeking  and  receiving  her 
counsel ;  while  children  found  her  a  delightful  playmate  and 
a  capital  friend.  My  son  Arthur  (otherwise  "  Pickie  "),  who 
was  but  eight  months  old  when  she  came  to  us,  learned  to 
walk  and  to  talk  in  her  society,  and  to  love  and  admire  her 
as  few  but  nearest  relatives  are  ever  loved  and  admired  by  a 
child.  For,  as  the  elephant's  trunk  serves  either  to  rend  a 
limb  from  the  oak  or  pick  up  a  pin,  so  her  wonderful  range 
of  capacities,  of  experiences,  of  sympathies,  seemed  adapted 
to  every  condition  and  phase  of  humanity.  She  had  marvel 
ous  powers  of  personation  and  mimicry,  and,  had  she  conde 
scended  to  appear  before  the  foot-lights,  would  soon  have  been 
recognized  as  the  first  actress  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.  For 
every  effort  to  limit  vice,  ignorance,  and  misery  she  had  a 
ready,  eager  ear,  and  a  willing  hand ;  so  that  her  charities  — 
large  in  proportion  to  her  slender  means  —  were  signally  en 
hanced  by  the  fitness  and  fulness  of  her  wise  and  generous 


180  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

counsel,  the  readiness  and  emphasis  with  which  she,  publicly 
and  privately,  commended  to  those  richer  than  herself  any 
object  deserving  their  alms.  She  had  once  attended,  with 
other  noble  women,  a  gathering  of  outcasts  of  their  sex ;  and, 
being  asked  how  they  appeared  to  her,  replied,  "  As  women 
like  myself,  save  that  they  are  victims  of  wrong  and  misfor 
tune"  No  project  of  moral  or  social  reform  ever  failed  to 
command  her  generous,  cheering  benediction,  even  when  she 
could  not  share  the  sanguine  hopes  of  its  authors  :  she  trusted 
that  these  might  somehow  benefit  the  objects  of  their  self- 
sacrifice,  and  felt  confident  that  they  must,  at  all  events,  be 
blest  in  their  own  moral  natures.  I  doubt  that  our  various 
benevolent  and  reformatory  associations  had  ever  before,  or 
have  ever  since,  received  such  wise,  discriminating  commenda 
tion  to  the  favor  of  the  rich,  as  they  did  from  her  pen  during 
her  connection  with  The  Tribune. 

In  closing  her  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  not 
long  before  she  came  to  New  York,  she  had  said :  — 

"  I  stand  in  the  sunny  noon  of  life.  Objects  no  longer  glitter 
in  the  dews  of  morning,  neither  are  they  yet  softened  by  the 
shadows  of  evening.  Every  spot  is  seen,  every  chasm  revealed. 
Climbing  the  dusty  hill,  some  few  effigies,  that  once  stood  for 
symbols  of  human  destiny,  have  been  broken ;  those  I  still  have 
with  me  show  defects  in  this  broad  light.  Yet  enough  is  left,  even 
by  experience,  to  point  distinctly  to  the  glories  of  that  destiny,  — 
faint,  but  not  to  be  mistaken,  streaks  of  the  future  day.  I  can  say 
with  the  bard,  — 

'  Though  many  have  suffered  shipwreck,  still  beat  noble  hearts.' " 

Though  ten  years  had  not  passed  since  her  first  visit  to  Em 
erson,  at  Concord,  so  graphically  narrated  by  him  in  a  reminis 
cence  wherefrom  I  have  already  quoted,  care  and  suffering  had 
meantime  detracted  much  from  the  lightness  of  her  step,  the 
buoyancy  of  her  spirits.  If,  in  any  of  her  varying  moods,  she 
was  so  gay-hearted  and  mirth-provoking  as  he  there  describes 
her,  I  never  happened  to  be  a  witness ;  but  then  I  was  never 
so  intimate  and  admired  a  friend  as  he  became  at  an  early 


MARGARET  FULLER.  181 

day,  and  remained  to  the  last.  Satirical  she  could  still  be, 
on  great  provocation ;  but  she  rarely,  and,  I  judge,  reluctantly, 
gave  evidence  of  her  eminent  power  to  rebuke  assumption  or 
meanness  by  caricaturing  or  intensifying  their  unconscious 
exhibition.  She  could  be  joyous,  and  even  merry;  but  her 
usual  manner,  while  with  us,  was  one  of  grave  thoughtfulness, 
absorption  in  noble  deeds,  and  in  paramount  aspirations  and 
efforts  to  leave  some  narrow  corner  of  the  world  somewhat 
better  than  she  had  found  it. 

I  may  have  already  spoken  of  her  quick,  earnest  sympathy 
with  humanity  under  all  diversities  of  temporal  condition, 
her  easy  penetration  of  the  disguise  which  sometimes  seeks 
to  conceal  the  true  king  in  the  beggar's  rags,  and  her  profound 
appreciation  of  nobleness  of  soul,  wherever  and  however  mani 
fested.  Here  is  an  instance,  from  her  newspaper  article  on 
"  Woman  in  Poverty  "  :  — 

"  The  old  woman  was  recommended  as  a  laundress  by  my  friend, 
who  had  long  prized  her.  I  was  immediately  struck  with  the  dig 
nity  and  propriety  of  her  manner.  In  the  depth  of  Winter,  she 
brought  herself  the  heavy  baskets  through  the  slippery  streets ; 
and,  when  I  asked  her  why  she  did  not  employ  some  younger  per 
son  to  do  what  was  so  entirely  disproportioned  to  her  strength, 
simply  said,  she  '  lived  alone,  and  could  not  afford  to  hire  an 
errand-boy.'  *  It  was  hard  for  her1?'  *  No  ;  she  was  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  get  work,  at  her  age,  when  others  could  do  it  better. 
Her  friends  were  very  good  to  procure  it  for  her.'  '  Had  she  a 
comfortable  home  ? '  '  Tolerably  so ;  she  should  not  need  one 
long.'  '  Was  that  a  thought  of  joy  to  her  1 '  *  Yes ;  for  she  hoped 
to  see  again  the  husband  and  children  from  whom  she  had  long 
been  separated.' 

"  Thus  much  in  answer  to  the  questions  ;  but,  at  other  times,  the 
little  she  said  was  on  general  topics.  It  was  not  from  her  that  I 
learned  how  the  great  idea  of  Duty  had  held  her  upright  through  a 
life  of  incessant  toil,  sorrow,  bereavement ;  and  that  not  only  had 
she  remained  upright,  but  that  her  character  had  been  constantly 
progressive.  Her  latest  act  had  been  to  take  home  a  poor  sick  girl 
who  had  no  home  of  her  own,  and  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  dying 
in  an  hospital,  and  maintain  and  nurse  her  through  the  last  weeks 


182  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

of  her  life.  '  Her  eyesight  was  failing,  and  she  should  not  be  able 
to  work  much  longer;  but,  then,  God  would  provide.  Somebody 
ought  to  see  to  the  poor  motherless  girl.' 

"  It  was  not  merely  the  greatness  of  the  act,  for  one  in  such  cir 
cumstances,  but  the  quiet,  matter-of-course  way  in  which  it  was 
done,  that  showed  the  habitual  tone  of  the  mind,  and  made  us  feel 
that  life  could  hardly  do  more  for  a  human  being  than  to  make 
him  or  her  the  somebody  that  is  daily  so  deeply  needed,  to  represent 
the  right,  to  do  the  plain  right  thing. 

"  'God  will  provide.'  —  Yes,  it  is  the  poor  who  feel  themselves 
near  to  the  God  of  Love.  Though  He  slay  them,  still  do  they 
trust  Him. 

"  '  I  hope,'  said  I,  to  a  poor  apple-woman,  who  had  been  drawn  on 
to  disclose  a  tale  of  distress  that,  almost  in  the  mere  hearing,  made 
me  weary  of  life,  — '  I  hope  I  may  yet  see  you  in  a  happier  con 
dition.' 

"  '  With  God's  help  ! '  she  replied,  with  a  smile  that  a  Raphael 
would  have  delighted  to  transfer  to  his  canvas ;  a  Mozart,  to  strains 
of  angelic  sweetness.  All  her  life  she  had  seemed  an  outcast 
child  ;  still,  she  leaned  upon  a  Father's  love." 


In  the  summer  of  1846,  —  modifying,  but  not  terminating, 
her  connection  with  The  Tribune,  —  Margaret  left  New  York 
for  Boston,  and,  after  a  parting  visit  to  her  relatives  and  early 
friends,  took  passage  thence  (August  1)  for  Europe.  As  I 
last  saw  her  on  the  steamboat  that  bore  her  hence,  I  might, 
perhaps,  here  bid  her  adieu.  But  my  recollections  of  her  do 
not  cease  with  her  departure ;  and  I  feel  that  my  many  young 
readers,  whose  previous  acquaintance  with  her  was  but  a 
vague  tradition,  cannot  choose  that  she  be  thus  abruptly  dis 
missed  from  these  reminiscences,  but  will  prefer  to  hear  more 
of  the  most  remarkable,  and  in  some  respects  the  greatest, 
woman  whom  America  has  yet  known.  I  therefore  devote 
some  pages  to  her  subsequent  career ;  only  regretting  that  time 
and  space  do  not  serve  to  render  that  career  ampler  justice. 

Leaving  in  the  company  of  admiring,  devoted  friends,  who 
welcomed  her  to  the  intimacy  of  their  family  circle,  and  writ- 


MARGARET  FULLER.  183 

ing  to  The  Tribune  whenever  she  (too  seldom)  found  topics 
of  interest  that  did  not  trench  upon  her  deference  to  the  sanc 
tities  of  social  intercourse,  she  first  traversed  Great  Britain ; 
meeting  and  conversing  with  Wordsworth,  Joanna  Baillie,  De 
Quincey,  Carlyle,  Mazzini,  Dr.  Chalmers,  the  Howitts,  and 
many  other  celebrities,  —  most  of  whom  have  since  passed 
away,  —  thence  crossing  to  France,  where  she  met  George 
Sand,  Be*ranger,  La  Mennais,  saw  Eachel  act,  and  listened  to 
a  lecture  by  Arago.  The  next  Spring  (1847),  she,  with  her 
party,  sped  to  Italy ;  coasting  to  Naples,  and  thence  returning 
leisurely  to  Eome,  where  Pius  IX.  had  just  been  made  Pope, 
and  had  signalized  his  accession  by  words  of  sympathy  and 
cheer  for  the  aspirations  to  freedom  of  down-trodden  millions, 
which  he  has  long  since  recanted,  but  they  refuse  to  forget. 
Passing  thence  by  Florence,  Bologna,  Eavenna,  to  Venice, 
she  there  parted  with  the  friends  who  had  thus  far  been  her 
companions  in  travel,  —  they  crossing  the  Alps  on  their  home 
ward  way ;  while  she  —  fully  identified  with  the  new-born 
hopes  of  Italy  —  had  decided  to  remain.  After  hastily  visit 
ing  Vicenza,  Verona,  Mantua,  Brescia,  Milan,  the  lakes  Garda, 
Maggiore,  and  Como,  and  spending  a  few  days  in  southern 
Switzerland,  she  returned,  via  Milan  and  Florence,  to  Eome, 
august  "  city  of  the  soul,"  which  she  had  chosen  for  her  future 
home,  and  whence  she  wrote  (December  20)  to  her  friend 
Emerson :  — 

"  I  find  how  true  was  the  hope  that  always  drew  me  toward 
Europe.  It  was  no  false  instinct  that  said  I  might  here  find  an 
atmosphere  to  develop  me  in  ways  that  I  need.  Had  I  only  come 
ten  years  earlier!  Now,  my  life  must  be  a  failure,  so  much 
strength  has  been  wasted  on  abstractions,  which  only  came  because 
I  grew  not  on  the  right  soil." 

She  was  privately  married,  not  long  after  her  return  to 
Eome,  to  Giovanni  Angelo  Ossoli,  of  a  noble  but  impoverished 
Eoman  family.  Pie  had  caught  the  infection  of  liberal  prin 
ciples  from  the  air,  or  from  her,  —  his  three  brothers  being,  as 
he  had  been,  in  the  Papal  service,  and  so  remaining  after  the 
Pope  had  disappointed  the  hopes  excited  by  his  first  words  and 


184  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

acts  under  the  tiara.  In  the  troublous  times  then  imminent, 
it  was  deemed  expedient  to  keep  their  marriage  a  close  secret, 
as  their  only  hope  of  securing  their  share  of  the  patrimony  of 
Ossoli's  recently  deceased  father ;  and  she  spent  the  ensuing 
Summer  at  the  little  mountain  village  of  Eieti,  where  her  son 
Angelo  was  born.  Keturning  before  Winter  to  Eome,  she 
became  at  once  a  trusted  counsellor  of  Mazzini  during  the 
brief  but  glorious  era  of  the  Eepublic ;  and,  when  the  city 
was  invested  and  besieged  by  a  French  army,  she  was  ap 
pointed  director  of  a  hospital,  and  therein  found  a  sphere  of 
sad,  but  earnest  and  beneficent  activity.  While  thus  ab 
sorbed  in  the  noblest  efforts  in  behalf  of  Italy,  of  Freedom, 
and  Humanity,  she  snatched  time  (May  6)  to  send  me  a 
letter  descriptive  of  the  situation,  opening,  trumpet-toned,  as 
follows :  — 

"  I  write  you  from  barricaded  Rome.  The  mother  of  nations  is 
now  at  bay  against  them  all. 

"  Rome  was  suffering  before. 

"  The  misfortunes  of  other  regions  of  Italy,  the  defeat  at  Novarra, 
—  preconcerted,  in  hope  to  strike  the  last  blow  at  Italian  inde 
pendence,  —  the  surrender  and  painful  condition  of  Genoa ;  the 
money  difficulties,  —  insuperable,  unless  the  government  could 
secure  confidence  abroad  as  well  as  at  home, — prevented  her 
people  from  finding  that  foothold  for  which  they  were  ready.  The 
vacillations  of  France  agitated  them  ;  still,  they  could  not  seriously 
believe  she  would  ever  act  the  part  she  has.  We  must  say  France, 
because,  though  many  honorable  men  have  washed  their  hands  of 
all  share  in  the  perfidy,  the  Assembly  voted  funds  to  sustain  the 
expedition  to  Civita  Yecchia,  and  the  nation,  the  army,  have  re 
mained  quiescent." 

This  letter  closed  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  Americans  here  are  not  in  a  pleasant  situation.  Mr.  Cass, 
the  Charg6  of  the  United  States,  stays  here  without  recognizing 
the  government.  Of  course,  he  holds  no  position  at  the  present 
moment  that  can  enable  him  to  act  for  us.  Besides,  it  gives  us 
pain  that  our  country,  whose  policy  it  justly  is  to  avoid  physical 
interference  with  the  affairs  of  Europe,  should  not  use  a  moral 


MARGARET  FULLER.  185 

influence.  Rome  has  —  as  we  did  —  thrown  off  a  government  no 
longer  tolerable  ;  she  had  made  use  of  the  suffrage  to  form  another  ; 
she  stands  on  the  same  basis  as  ourselves.  Mr.  Rush  did  us  great 
honor  by  his  ready  recognition  of  a  principle,  as  represented  by 
the  French  Provisional  Government ;  had  Mr.  Cass  been  em 
powered  to  do  the  same,  our  country  would  have  acted  nobly,  and 
all  that  is  most  truly  American  in  America  would  have  spoken 
to  sustain  the  sickened  hopes  of  European  Democracy.  But  of 
this  more  when  I  write  next.  Who  knows  what  I  may  have  to 
tell  another  week  1 " 

She  soon  afterward  wrote  (June  6)  to  another  friend  as 
follows :  — 

"On  Sunday,  from  our  loggia,  I  witnessed  a  terrible,  a  real 
battle.  It  began  at  four  in  the  morning :  it  lasted  to  the  last 
gleam  of  light.  The  musket-fire  was  almost  unintermitted ;  the 
roll  of  the  cannon,  especially  from  St.  Angelo,  most  majestic.  As 
all  passed  at  Porta  San  Pancrazio  and  Villa  Pamfili,  I  saw  the 
smoke  of  every  discharge,  the  flash  of  the  bayonets ;  with  a  glass, 
could  see  the  men.  The  French  could  not  use  their  heavy  cannon, 

being  always  driven  away  by  the  legions  of  Garibaldi  and , 

when  trying  to  find  positions  for  them.  The  loss  on  our  side'  is 
about  three  hundred  killed  and  wounded ;  theirs  must  be  much 
greater.  In  one  casino  have  been  found  seventy  dead  bodies  of 

theirs The  cannonade  on  our  side  has  continued  day  and 

night  (being  full  moon)  till  this  morning ;  they  seeking  to  advance 
or  take  other  positions,  the  Romans  firing  on  them.  The  French 
throw  rockets  into  the  town ;  one  burst  in  the  court-yard  of  the 
hospital  just  as  I  arrived  there  yesterday,  agitating  the  poor  suf 
ferers  very  much ;  they  said  they  did  not  want  to  die  like  mice  in 
a  trap." 

She  writes,  five  days  later,  to  her  friend  Emerson  as 
follows :  — 

"  I  received  your  letter  amid  the  sound  of  cannonade  and  mus 
ketry.  It  was  a  terrible  battle,  fought  here  from  the  first  till  the 
last  light  of  day.  I  could  see  all  its  progress  from  my  balcony. 
The  Italians  fought  like  lions.  It  is  a  truly  heroic  spirit  that 
animates  them.  They  make  a  stand  here  for  honor  and  their 
rights,  with  little  ground  for  hope  that  they  can  resist,  now  they 
are  betrayed  by  France. 


186  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

^  Since  the  30th  April,  I  go  almost  daily  to  the  hospitals ;  and 
though  I  have  suffered,  —  for  I  had  no  idea  before  how  terrible 
gunshot  wounds  and  wound-fever  are,  —  yet  I  have  taken  pleasure, 
and  great  pleasure,  in  being  with  the  men ;  there  is  scarcely  one 
who  is  not  moved  by  a  noble  spirit.  Many,  especially  among  the 
Lombards,  are  the  flower  of  the  Italian  youth.  When  they  begin 
to  get  better,  I  carry  them  books  and  flowers ;  they  read,  and  we 
talk. 

"  The  palace  of  the  Pope,  on  the  Quirinal,  is  now  used  for  con 
valescents.  In  those  beautiful  gardens,  I  walk  with  them,  —  one 
with  his  sling,  another  with  his  crutch.  The  gardener  plays  off 
all  his  water-works  for  the  defenders  of  the  country,  and  gathers 
flowers  for  me,  their  friend. 

"  I  feel  profoundly  for  Mazzini ;  at  moments,  I  am  tempted  to 
say,  'Cursed  with  every  granted  prayer,'  —  so  cunning  is  the 
demon.  He  is  becoming  the  inspiring  soul  of  his  people.  He 
saw  Rome,  to  which  all  his  hopes  through  life  tended,  for  the  first 
time  as  a  Roman  citizen,  and  to  become  in  a  few  days  its  ruler. 
He  has  animated,  he  sustains  her  to  a  glorious  effort,  which,  if  it 
fails  this  time,  will  not  in  the  age.  His  country  will  be  free.  Yet 
to  me  it  would  be  so  dreadful  to  cause  all  the  bloodshed,  to  dig  the 
graves  of  such  martyrs. 

"  Then  Rome  is  being  destroyed  ;  her  glorious  oaks ;  her  villas, 
haunts  of  sacred  beauty,  that  seemed  the  possession  of  the  world 
forever,  —  the  villa  of  Raphael,  the  villa  of  Albani,  home  of  Win- 
kelmann,  and  the  best  expression  of  the  ideal  of  modern  Rome, 
and  so  many  other  sanctuaries  of  beauty,  —  all  must  perish,  lest 
a  foe  should  level  his  musket  from  their  shelter.  /  could  not, 
could  not ! 

"  I  know  not,  dear  friend,  whether  I  shall  ever  get  home  across 
that  great  ocean ;  but  here  in  Rome  I  shall  no  longer  wish  to  live. 

0  Rome,  my  country !  could  I  imagine  that  the  triumph  of  what 

1  held  dear  was  to  heap  such  desolation  on  thy  head ! 

"  Speaking  of  the  Republic  you  say,  '  Do  not  I  wish  Italy  had 
a  great  man  ] '  Mazzini  is  a  great  man.  In  mind,  a  great  poetic 
statesman ;  in  heart,  a  lover ;  in  action,  decisive,  and  full  of  re 
sources  as  Csesar.  Dearly  I  love  Mazzini.  He  came  in  just  as  I 
had  finished  the  first  letter  to  you.  His  soft,  radiant  look  makes 
melancholy  music  in  my  soul ;  it  consecrates  my  present  life,  that, 


MARGARET  FULLER.  187 

like  the  Magdalen,  I  may,  at  the  important  hour,  shed  all  the 
consecrated  ointment  on  his  head.  There  is  one,  Mazzini,  who 
understands  thee  well ;  who  knew  thee  no  less  when  an  object  of 
popular  fear,  than  now  of  idolatry;  and  who,  if  the  pen  be  not 
held  too  feebly,  will  help  posterity  to  know  thee  too." 

Her  friend,  Mrs.  William  W.  Story,  an  eyewitness,  writes 
of  her  in  those  heroic  days  as  follows  :  — 

"  Night  and  day,  Margaret  was  occupied,  and,  with  the  Princess 
[Belgiojoso],  so  ordered  and  disposed  the  hospitals,  that  their  con 
duct  was  truly  admirable.  All  the  work  was  skilfully  divided,  so 
that  there  was  no  confusion  or  hurry ;  and,  from  the  chaotic  con 
dition  in  which  these  places  had  been  left  by  the  priests,  —  who 
previously  had  charge  of  them,  —  they  brought  them  to  a  state  of 
perfect  regularity  and  discipline.  Of  money  they  had  very  little  ; 
and  they  were  obliged  to  give  their  time  and  thoughts  in  its  place. 
From  the  Americans  in  Rome  they  raised  a  subscription  for  the 
aid  of  the  wounded  of  either  party;  but  beside  this  they  had 
scarcely  any  means  to  use.  I  have  walked  through  the  wards 
with  Margaret,  and  saw  how  comforting  was  her  presence  to  the 
poor  suffering  men.  '  How  long  wrill  Signora  stay  ? '  '  When  will 
the  Signora  come  again  T  they  eagerly  asked.  For  each  one's 
peculiar  tastes  she  had  a  care  :  to  one,  she  carried  books ;  to 
another,  she  told  the  news  of  the  day ;  and  listened  to  another's 
oft-repeated  tale  of  wrongs,  as  the  best  sympathy  she  could  give. 
They  raised  themselves  up  on  their  elbows,  to  get  the  last  glimpse 
of  her  as  she  was  going  away.  There  were  some  of  the  sturdy 
fellows  of  Garibaldi's  Legion  there ;  and  to  them  she  listened,  as 
they  spoke  with  delight  of  their  chief,  of  his  courage  and  skill ;  for 
he  seemed  to  have  won  the  hearts  of  his  men  in  a  remarkable 


Of  course,  this  most  unequal  struggle  could  have  but  one 
result.  Eome,  gallantly  defended  by  the  badly  armed,  ill-sup 
plied,  motley  host  of  volunteers,  who  had  gathered  from  all  Italy 
to  uphold  the  flag  of  the  Eepublic,  at  last  fell :  the  superiority 
of  the  French  in  numbers,  in  discipline,  and  in  every  resource, 
being  too  decided  to  leave  room  for  hope.  Margaret  had 
accompanied  her  husband  to  the  battery  in  front  of  the  enemy, 


188  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

where  his  company  was  stationed  on  the  last  evening  of  the 
siege ;  but  the  cannonade  was  not  renewed,  and  next  morning 
the  city  surrendered.  Husband  and  wife  hastened  directly 
to  Eieti,  where  their  child  had  been  left  at  nurse  through  the 
storm ;  and  whence  she  wrote  her  mother,  saying  :  — 

"  DEAREST  MOTHER  :  I  received  your  letter  a  few  hours  before 
reaching  Rome.  Like  all  of  yours,  it  refreshed  me,  and  gave  me 
as  much  satisfaction  as  anything  could  at  that  sad  time.  Its 
spirit  is  of  eternity,  and  befits  an  epoch  when  wickedness  and 
perfidy  so  impudently  triumph,  and  the  best  blood  of  the  generous 
and  honorable  is  poured  out  like  water,  seemingly  in  vain. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  suffered  to  abandon  the  wounded  to 
the  care  of  their  mean  foes ;  to  see  the  young  men  that  were  faith 
ful  to  their  vows  hunted  from  their  homes,  —  hunted  like  wild 
beasts,  —  denied  a  refuge  in  every  civilized  land.  Many  of  those 
I  loved  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  by  Austrian  cannon,  or  will 
be  shot ;  others  are  in  penury,  grief,  and  exile.  May  God  give  due 
recompense  for  all  that  has  been  endured  ! 

"  My  mind  still  agitated,  and  my  spirits  worn  out,  I  have  not 
felt  like  writing  to  any  one.  Yet  the  magnificent  Summer  does 
not  smile  quite  in  vain  for  me.  Much  exercise  in  the  open  air, 
living  much  on  milk  and  fruit,  have  recruited  my  health ;  and  I 
am  regaining  the  habit  of  sleep,  which  a  month  of  nightly  can 
nonade  in  Rome  had  destroyed. 

"  Receiving,  a  few  days  since,  a  packet  of  letters  from  America, 
I  opened  them  with  more  feeling  of  hope  and  good  cheer  than  for 
a  long  time  past.  The  first  words  that  met  my  eye  were  these,  in 
the  hand  of  Mr.  Greeley  :  '  Ah,  Margaret !  the  world  grows  dark 
with  us  !  You  grieve,  for  Rome  is  fallen ;  /  mourn,  for  Pickie  is 
dead.' 

"  I  have  shed  rivers  of  tears  over  the  inexpressibly  affecting 
letter  thus  begun.  One  would  think  I  might  have  become  fa 
miliar  enough  with  images  of  death  and  destruction ;  yet,  some 
how,  the  image  of  Pickie's  little  dancing  figure  lying  stiff  and 
stark,  between  his  parents,  has  made  me  weep  more  than  all  else. 
There  was  little  hope  he  could  do  justice  to  himself,  or  lead  a 
happy  life,  in  so  perplexed  a  world ;  but  never  was  a  character  of 
richer  capacity,  —  never  a  more  charming  child.  To  me,  he  was 


MARGARET  FULLER.  189 

most  dear,  and  would  always  have  been  so.  Had  he  become  stained 
with  earthly  faults,  I  could  never  have  forgotten  what  he  was 
when  fresh  from  the  soul's  home,  and  what  he  was  to  me  when  my 
soul  pined  for  sympathy,  pure  and  unalloyed.  The  three  children 
I  have  seen  who  were  fairest  in  my  eyes,  and  gave  most  promise 
of  the  future,  were  Waldo  [Emerson],  Pickie,  Hermann  Clarke ;  — 
all  nipped  in  the  bud.  Endless  thought  has  this  given  me,  and  a 
resolve  to  seek  the  realization  of  all  hopes  and  plans  elsewhere ; 
which  resolve  will  weigh  with  me  as  much  as  it  can  weigh  before 
the  silver  cord  is  finally  loosed.  Till  then,  Earth,  our  mother, 
always  finds  strange,  unexpected  ways  to  draw  us  back  to  her 
bosom,  —  to  make  us  seek  anew  a  nutriment  which  has  never 
failed  to  cause  us  frequent  sickness." 

Having  somewhat  regained  her  health  and  calmness  at 
Bieti,  she  journeyed  thence,  with  her  husband  and  child,  by 
Perugia  to  Florence,  where  they  were  welcomed  and  cheered 
by  the  love  and  admiration  of  the  little  American  colony,  and 
by  the  few  British  liberals  residing  there,  —  the  Brownings 
prominent  among  them.  Here  they  spent  the  ensuing  Winter, 
and  Margaret  wrote  her  survey  of  the  grand  movement  for 
Italian  liberty  and  unity,  which  had  miscarried  for  the 
moment,  but  which  was  still  cherished  in  millions  of  noble 
hearts.  With  the  ensuing  Spring  came  urgent  messages  from 
her  native  land,  awaking,  or  rather  strengthening,  her  natural 
longing  to  greet  once  more  the  dear  ones  from  whom  she  had 
now  been  four  years  parted;  and  on  the  17th  of  May,  1850, 
they  embarked  in  the  bark  Elizabeth,  Captain  Hasty,  at  Leg 
horn,  for  New  York,  which  they  hoped  to  reach  within  sixty 
days  at  farthest. 

Margaret's  correspondence  for  the  preceding  month  is  dark 
ened  with  apprehensions  and  sinister  forebodings,  which  were 
destined  to  be  fearfully  justified.  First :  Captain  Hasty  was 
prostrated,  when  a  few  days  on  his  voyage,  by  what  proved 
to  be  confluent  small-pox,  whereof  he  died,  despite  his  wife's 
tenderest  care,  and  his  body  was  consigned  to  the  deep.  Then 
Angelo,  Margaret's  child,  was  attacked  by  the  terrible  disease, 
and  his  life  barely  saved,  after  he  had  for  days  been  utterly 


190  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

blind,  and  his  recovery  seemed  hopeless.  So,  after  a  week's 
detention  by  head  winds  at  Gibralter,  they  fared  on,  under 
the  mate's  guidance,  until,  at  noon  of  July  15,  in  a  thick  fog, 
with  a  southeast  breeze,  they  reckoned  themselves  off  the 
Jersey  coast,  and  headed  northeast  for  the  bay  of  New  York, 
which  they  expected  to  enter  next  morning.  But  the  evening 
brought  a  gale,  which  steadily  increased  to  a  tempest,  before 
which,  though  under  close-reefed  sails,  they  were  driven  with 
a  rapidity  of  which  they  were  unconscious,  until,  about  four 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  the  Elizabeth  struck  heavily  on 
Tire  Island  Beach,  off  the  south  coast  of  Long  Island,  and  her 
prow  was  driven  harder  and  farther  into  the  sand,  while  her 
freight  of  marble  broke  through  her  keel,  and  her  stern  was 
gradually  hove  around  by  the  terrible  waves,  until  she  lay 
broadside  to  their  thundering,  sweep,  her  deck  being  careened 
toward  the  land,  the  sea  making  a  clear  sweep  over  her  at 
every  swell.  The  masts  had  been  promptly  cut  away;  but 
the  ship  was  already  lost,  and  her  inmates  could  only  hope 
to  save  their  own  lives.  Making  their  way  with  great  diffi 
culty  to  the  forecastle,  they  remained  there,  amid  the  war  of 
elements,  until  9  A.  M.,  when,  as  the  wreck  was  evidently 
about  to  break  up,  they  resolved  to  attempt  the  perilous  pas 
sage  to  the  desolate  sand-hills  which  were  plainly  visible  at  a 
distance  of  a  few  hundred  feet ;  and,  venturing  upon  a  plank, 
Mrs.  Hasty,  aided  by  a  seaman  named  Davis,  reached  the  shore. 
But  Margaret  and  her  husband  refused  to  be  saved  separately, 
or  without  their  child ;  and  the  crew  were  directed  to  save 
themselves,  which  most  of  them  did.  Still,  some  remained  on 
the  wreck,  and  were  persuading  the  passengers  to  trust  them 
selves  to  planks,  when,  at  3  P.  M.,  a  great  sea  struck  the  fore 
castle,  carrying  away  the  foremast,  together  with  the  deck 
and  all  upon  it.  Two  of  the  crew  saved  themselves  by  swim 
ming  ;  the  steward,  with  little  Angelo  in  his  arms,  both  dead, 
was  washed  ashore  twenty  minutes  later;  but  of  Margaret 
and  her  husband  nothing  was  evermore  seen. 

Just  before  setting  out  on  this  fateful  voyage,  she  had  written 
apprehensively  to  a  friend  at  home :  — 


MARGARET  FULLER.  191 

"  I  shall  embark  more  composedly  in  our  merchant-ship ;  pray 
ing  fervently,  indeed,  that  it  may  not  be  my  lot  to  lose  my  boy  at 
sea,  either  by  unsolaced  illness,  or  amid  howling  waves ;  or,  if  so, 
that  Ossoli,  Angelo,  and  I  may  go  together,  and  that  the  anguish 
may  be  brief." 

So  passed  away  the  loftiest,  bravest  soul  that  has  yet  irra 
diated  the  form  of  an  American  woman. 


IN    MEMORY 

OF    THE 

MARTYRS    TO    HUMAN    LIBERTY, 

WHO    FELL 

DURING  THE   SIEGE   OF   MAY  AND   JUNE,    1849, 

AS 

DEFENDERS    OF    ROME; 

STERNLY   STRUGGLING 
AGAINST    OVERWHELMING   NUMBERS,    AGAINST  AMPLE    MUNITIONS, 

AGAINST   FATE: 

THEIR   HIGHEST   HOPE  THAT   IN   THEM,    LIVING   OR   DEAD,   THE 
SACRED   CAUSE   SHOULD   NOT   BE   DISHONORED: 

THEIR    PROUDEST    WISH 

THAT  FREEDOM'S  CHAMPIONS  THROUGHOUT  THE  WORLD 
MIGHT  RECOGNIZE  THEM  AS  BRETHREN, 

NOBLY    DYING 

THAT  SURVIVING  MILLIONS  MAY  DULY  ABHOR  TYRANNY  AND  LOVE  LIBERTY 

CLOSING   THEIR    EYES   SERENELY, 

IN  THE  GENEROUS  -FAITH  THAT  RIGHTS  FOR  ALL,  DOMINION  FOR  NONE, 
WILL  SOON  REVIVIFY  THE  EARTH  BAPTIZED  IN  THEIR  BLOOD. 

STAY,    HEEDLESS   WANDERER  ! 
DEFILE   NOT  WITH  LISTLESS   STEP  THE  ASHES   OF   HEROES  ! 

BUT, 

ON  THE  RELICS  OF  THESE  MARTYRS,  SWEAR  A  DEEPER  AND  STERNER 
HATE  TO  EVERY  FORM  OF  OPPRESSION  : 

HERE    LEARN    TO    FEEL 

A  DEARER  LOVE  FOR  ALL  WHO  STRIVE  FOR  LIBERTY  : 

HERE    BREATHE   A    PRAYER 

FOR  THE   SPEEDY  TRIUMPH  OF   RIGHT   OVER   MIGHT,  LIGHT  OVER   NIGHT  ; 

AND  FOR  ROME'S  FALLEN  DEFENDERS, 

THAT    THE    GOD    OF    THE   OPPRESSED   AND   AFFLICTED   MAY   HAVE 
THEM    IN    HIS    HOLY    KEEPING. 


"  They  never  fail  who  die 

In  a  great  cause  ;  the  block  may  soak  their  gore  ; 
Their  heads  may  sodden  in  the  sun  ;  their  limbs 
Be  strung  to  city  gates  and  castle  walls,  — 
But  still  their  spirit  walks  abroad." 

BYRON,  Marino  Faliero,  Act  II.  Scene  2. 


XXIII. 

BEG-G-ARS    AND    BORROWERS. 

NEW  YOEK  is  the  metropolis  of  beggary.  The  wrecks 
of  incapacity,  miseducation,  prodigality,  and  profligacy 
drift  hither  from  either  continent,  and  are  finally  stranded  on 
our  shore.  Has  a  pretentious  family  in  Europe  a  member 
who  is  felt  as  a  burden  or  loathed  as  a  disgrace  ?  money  is 
somehow  scraped  together  to  ship  him  off  to  New  York ;  tak 
ing  good  care  that  there  be  not  enough  to  enable  him  to  ship 
himself  back  again.  Does  a  family  collapse  anywhere  in  the 
interior  or  along  the  coast  of  our  country,  leaving  a  helpless 
widow  and  fatherless  children  to  struggle  with  difficulties 
utterly  unexpected  and  unprepared  for  ?  though  too  proud  to 
work,  or  even  beg,  where  they  are  known,  they  are  ready 
enough  to  try  their  fortune  and  hide  their  fall  in  this  great 
emporium,  where  they  would  gladly  do  —  if  they  could  get 
it  —  the  very  work  which  they  reject  as  degrading  in  the 
home  of  their  by-gone  prosperity  and'  consequence.  Though 
living  is  here  most  expensive,  and  only  eminent  skill  or  effi 
ciency  can  justify  migration  hither  on  the  part  of  any  but 
single  young  men,  yet  mechanics  and  laborers  of  very  mod 
erate  ability,  and  even  widows  with  small  children,  hie  hither, 
in  reckless  defiance  of  the  fact  that  myriads  have  done  so 
before  them,  —  at  least  nineteen-twentieth s  of  them  only  to 
plunge  thereby  into  deeper,  more  squalid,  hopeless  misery 
than  they  had  previously  known.  Want  is  a  hard  master 
anywhere ;  but  nowhere  else  are  the  sufferings,  the  woes,  the 
desperation,  of  utter  need  so  trying  as  in  a  great  city ;  and 
they  are  preeminently  so  in  this  city ;  because  the  multi- 


BEGGARS  AND  BORROWERS.  193 

plicity  of  the  destitute  benumbs  the  heart  of  charity  and 
precludes  attention  to  any  one's  wants,  while  each  is  ab 
sorbed  in  his  own  cares  and  efforts  to  such  extent  that  he 
knows  nothing  of  the  neighbors  who  may  be  starving  to 
death,  with  barely  a  brick  wall  between  him  and  them. 

The  beggars  of  New  York  comprise  but  a  small  proportion 
of  its  sufferers  from  want ;  yet  they  are  at  once  very  numerous 
and  remarkably  impudent.  One  who  would  accept  a  franc 
in  Paris,  or  a  shilling  in  London,  with  grateful  acknowledg 
ments,  considers  himself  ill-used  and  insulted  if  you  offer 
him  less  than  a  dollar  in  New  York.  With  thousands,  beg 
gary  is  a  profession,  whereof  the  rudiments  were  acquired  in 
the  Old  World ;  but  experience  and  observation  have  qualified 
them  to  pursue  it  with  veteran  proficiency  and  success  in  the 
New.  Even  our  native  beggars  have  a  boldness  of  aspiration, 
an  audacity  of  conception,  such  as  the  magnificent  proportions 
of  our  lakes  and  valleys,  our  mountains  and  prairies,  are 
calculated  to  inspire.  I  doubt  that  an  Asiatic  or  European 
beggar  ever  frankly  avowed  his  intent  to  beg  the  purchase- 
money  of  a  good  farm,  though  some  may  have  invested  their 
gains  thus  laudably ;  but  I  have  been  solicited  by  more  than 
one  American,  who  had  visited  this  city  from  points  hundreds 
of  miles  distant,  expressly  and  avowedly  to  beg  the  means  of 
buying  a  homestead.  I  wish  I  were  certain  that  none  of  these 
had  more  success  with  others  than  with  me. 

Begging  for  churches,  for  seminaries,  for  libraries,  has  been 
one  of  our  most  crying  nuisances.  If  there  be  two  hundred 
negro  families  living  in  a  city,  they  will  get  up  a  Baptist, 
a  Methodist,  and  perhaps  an  Episcopal  or  Congregational 
Church ;  and,  being  generally  poor,  they  will  undertake  to 
build  for  each  a  meeting-house,  and  support  a  clergyman,  — 
in  good  part,  of  course,  by  begging,  —  often  in  distant  cities. 
A  dozen  boys  attending  a  seminary  will  form  a  library  asso 
ciation,  or  debating  club,  and  then  levy  on  mankind  in  gen 
eral  for  the  books  they  would  like  to  possess.  Thus,  in  addi 
tion  to  our  resident  mendicancy,  New  York  is  made  the 
cruising-ground,  the  harvest-field,  of  the  high-soaring  beggary 

13 


194  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

of  a  whole  continent ;  while  our  princely  merchants,  at  some 
seasons,  are  waited  upon  by  more  solicitors  of  contributions 
than  purchasers  of  goods.  Hence,  our  rich  men  generally 
court  and  secure  a  reputation  for  meanness,  which  may  or 
may  not  be  deserved  in  a  particular  instance,  but  which,  in 
any  case,  is  indispensable  as  a  protection,  like  the  shell  of 
a  tortoise.  Were  they  reputed  benevolent  and  free-handed, 
they  would  never  be  allowed  time  to  attend  to  their  business, 
and  could  not  enjoy  an  hour's  peace  in  the  bosom  of  their 
respective  families. 

The  chronic  beggars  are  a  bad  lot ;  but  the  systematic  bor 
rowers  are  far  worse.  What  you  give  is  gone,  and  soon  for 
gotten,  —  there  is  the  end  of  it.  It  is  presumable  that  you 
can  spare,  or  you  would  have  withheld  it.  But  you  lend  (in 
your  greener  days)  with  some  expectation  of  being  repaid ; 
hence,  disappointment  and  serious  loss,  —  sometimes,  even 
disgrace,  —  because  of  your  abused  faith  in  human  nature. 
I  presume  no  year  passes  wherein  the  solvent  business  men 
of  this  city  lose  so  little  as  Ten  Millions  of  Dollars  borrowed 
of  them,  for  a  few  hours  or  days,  as  a  momentary  accommoda 
tion,  by  neighbors  and  acquaintances,  who  would  resent  a 
suggested  doubt  of  its  punctual  repayment ;  yet  who  never 
do  repay  it.  I  am  confident  that  good  houses  have  been 
reduced  to  bankruptcy,  by  these  most  irregular  and  improvi 
dent  loans. 

Worse  still  is  the  habit  of  borrowing  and  lending  among 
clerks  and  young  mechanics.  A  part  of  these  are  provident, 
thrifty,  frugal,  and  so  save  money ;  another,  and  much  larger 
class,  prefer  to  "  live  as  they  go,"  and  are  constantly  spending 
in  drink  and  other  dissipation  that  portion  of  their  earnings 
which  they  should  save.  When  I  was  a  journeyman,  I  knew 
several  who  earned  more  than  I  did,  but  who  were  always 
behind  with  their  board.  Men  of  this  class  are  continually 
borrowing  five  dollars  or  ten  dollars  of  their  frugal  acquaint 
ances  to  invest  in  a  ball,  a  sleigh-ride,  an  excursion,  a  frolic ; 
and  a  large  proportion  of  these  loans  are  never  repaid.  Mil 
lions  of  dollars,  in  the  aggregate,  are  thus  transferred  from 


BEGGARS  AND  BORROWERS.  195 

the  pockets  of  the  frugal  to  those  of  the  prodigal ;  depriving 
the  former  of  means  they  are  sure  to  need  when  they  come 
to  furnish  a  house  or  undertake  a  business,  and  doing  the  lat 
ter  no  good,  but  rather  confirming  them  in  their  evil  ways. 
Such  lending  should  be  systematically  discountenanced  and 
refused. 

I  hate  to  say  anything  that  seems  calculated  to  steel  others 
against  the  prayers  of  the  unfortunate  and  necessitous ;  yet 
an  extensive,  protracted  experience  has  led  me  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  nine  tenths  of  those  who  solicit  loans  of  strangers 
or  casual  acquaintances  are  thriftless  vagabonds,  who  will 
never  be  better  off  than  at  present,  or  scoundrels,  who  would 
not  pay  if  they  were  able.  In  hundreds  of  cases,  I  have  been 
importuned  to  lend  from  one  dollar  up  to  ten  dollars,  to  help  a 
stranger  who  had  come  to  the  city  on  some  errand  or  other,  had 
here  fallen  among  thieves  (who  are  far  more  abundant  here 
than  they  ever  were  on  the  road  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho), 
been  made  drunk,  and  plundered  of  his  last  cent,  and  who 
asked  only  enough  to  take  him  home,  when  the  money  would 
be  surely  and  promptly  returned.  Sometimes,  I  have  lent 
the  sum  required ;  in  other  cases,  I  have  refused  it ;  but  I 
cannot  remember  a  single  instance  in  which  the  promise  to 
repay  was  made  good.  I  recollect  a  case  wherein  a  capable, 
intelligent  New-England  mechanic,  on  his  way  from  an  East 
ern  city  to  work  two  hundred  miles  up  the  Erie  Eailroad, 
borrowed  of  me  the  means  of  saving  his  children  from  famine 
on  the  way,  promising  to  pay  it  out  of  his  first  month's 
wages;  which  he  took  care  never  to  do.  This  case  differs 
from  many  others  only  in  that  the  swindler  was  clearly  of  a 
better  class  than  that  from  which  the  great  army  of  borrowers 
is  so  steadily  and  bounteously  recruited. 

In  one  instance,  a  young  man  came  with  the  usual  request, 
and  was  asked  to  state  his  case.  "  I  am  a  clerk  from  New 
Hampshire,"  he  began,  "  and  have  been  for  three  years  em 
ployed  in  Georgia.  At  length,  a  severe  sickness  prostrated 
me ;  I  lost  my  place ;  my  money  was  exhausted ;  and  here 
am  I,  with  my  wife,  without  a  cent ;  and  I  want  to  borrow 


196  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

enough  to  take  me  home  to  my  father's  house,  when  I  will 
surely  repay  it."  "  Stranger,"  was  the  response,  "  you  evi 
dently  cannot  stay  here,  and  I  must  help  you  get  away ;  but 
why  say  anything  about  paying  me  ?  You  know,  and  / 
know,  you  will  never  pay  a  cent."  My  visitor  protested 
and  remonstrated ;  but  I  convinced,  if  I  did  not  convert,  him. 
"Don't  you  see,"  I  rejoined,  "that  you  cannot  have  been 
three  years  a  clerk  in  a  leading  mercantile  house  in  Georgia 
without  making  the  acquaintance  of  merchants  doing  busi 
ness  in  this  city  ?  Now,  if  you  were  a  person  likely  to  pay, 
you  would  apply  to,  and  obtain  help  from,  those  merchants 
whom  you  know;  not  ask  help  of  me, —  an  utter  stranger." 
He  did  not  admit  the  force  of  my  demonstration ;  but  of 
course  the  sequel  proved  it  correct. 

I  consider  it  all  but  an  axiom,  that  he  who  asks  a  stranger 
to  lend  him  money  will  never  pay  it ;  yet  I  have  known  an 
exception.  Once,  when  I  was  exceedingly  poor  and  needy, 
in  a  season  of  commercial  revulsion  or  "  panic,"  I  opened  a 
letter  from  Utica,  and  found  therein  five  dollars,  which  the 
writer  asked  me  to  receive  in  satisfaction  of  a  loan  of  that 
sum  which  I  had  made  him  —  a  needy  stranger  —  on  an  oc 
casion  which  he  recalled  to  my  remembrance.  Perplexed  by 
so  unusual  a  message,  and  especially  by  receiving  it  at  such 
a  time,  when  every  one  was  seeking  to  borrow,  —  no  one 
condescending  to  pay,  —  I  scanned  the  letter  more  closely, 
and  at  length  achieved  a  solution  of  the  problem.  The  writer 
was  a  patient  in  the  State  lunatic  asylum. 

A  gushing  youth  once  wrote  me  to  this  effect :  — 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Among  your  literary  treasures,  you  have  doubt 
less  preserved  several  autographs  of  our  country's  late  lamented 
poet,  Edgar  A.  Poe.  If  so,  and  you  can  spare  one,  please  enclose 
it  to  me,  and  receive  the  thanks  of  yours  truly." 

I  promptly  responded,  as  follows  :  — 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Among  my  literary  treasures,  there  happens  to  be 
exactly  one  autograph  of  our  country's  late  lamented  poet,  Edgar 
A.  Poe.  It  is  his  note  of  hand  for  fifty  dollars,  with  my  indorse- 


BEGGARS  AND  BORROWERS.  197 

ment  across  the  back.  It  cost  me  exactly  $50.75  (including  pro 
test),  and  you  may  have  it  for  half  that  amount.  Yours,  respect 
fully." 

That  autograph,  I  regret  to  say,  remains  on  my  hands,  and 
is  still  for  sale  at  first  cost,  despite  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the 
depreciation  of  our  currency. 

I  once  received  a  letter  from  an  utter  stranger,  living  two 
hundred  miles  away,  asking  me  to  lend  him  a  large  sum  on  a 
mortgage  of  his  farm,  and  closing  thus  :  — 

"P.  S.  My  religious  views  are  radically  antagonist  to  yours ; 
but  I  know  no  member  of  my  own  church  of  whom  I  would  so 
readily,  and  with  such  confidence,  ask  such  a  favor,  as  of  you." 

This  postscript  impelled  me,  instead  of  dropping  the  letter 
quietly  into  the  waste-basket,  as  usual,  and  turning  to  the 
next  business  in  order,  to  answer  him  as  follows  :  — 

"  SIR  :  I  have  neither  the  money  you  ask  for,  nor  the  inclina 
tion  to  lend  it  on  the  security  you  proffer.  And  your  P.  S. 
prompts  the  suggestion  that,  whenever  /  shall  be  moved  to  seek 
favors  of  the  members  of  some  other  church,  rather  than  of  that  to 
which  I  have  hitherto  adhered,  I  shall  make  haste  to  join  that 
other  church." 

—  I  trust  I  have  here  said  nothing  calculated  to  stay  the 
hand  or  chill  the  spirit  of  heaven-born  Charity.  The  world 
is  full  of  needy,  suffering  ones,  who  richly  deserve  compas 
sion  ;  not  to  speak  of  the  vagrants,  who,  though  undeserving, 
must  not  be  allowed  to  starve  or  freeze.  I  was  struck  with 
the  response  of  a  man  last  from  St.  Louis,  who  recently  in 
sisted  on  being  helped  on  to  Boston,  which  he  said  was  his 
early  home,  and  to  whom  I  roughly  made  answer,  — "  You 
need  not  pretend  to  me  that  the  universe  is  bankrupt :  I 
know  better,  —  know  that  a  man  of  your  natural  abilities,  if 
he  only  behaved  himself,  need  not  be  reduced  to  beggary." 
"  Well,  sir,"  he  quickly  rejoined,  "  I  don't  pretend  that  I  have 
always  done  the  right  thing,  —  if  I  did,  you  would  know  bet 
ter,  —  all  I  say  is,  that  I  am  hungry  and  penniless,  and  that, 
if  I  can  only  get  back  to  Boston,  I  can  there  make  a  living. 


198  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

That 's  my  whole  story."     I  felt  that  he  had  the  better  reason 
on  his  side. 

There  must,  there  will,  be  heavy  drafts  made  on  the  sym 
pathies  and  the  means  of  all  who  can  and  will  give,  especially 
during  a  hard,  dull  Winter  or  a  "  panic."  Every  prosperous 
man  should  ask  himself,  "  How  much  can  I  afford  to  give  ? " 
and  should  set  apart  from  a  tenth  to  a  third  of  his  income  for 
the  relief  of  the  needy  and  suffering.  Then  he  should  search 
out  the  most  effective  channels  through  which  to  reach  those 
whose  privations  are  greatest,  and  on  whom  private  alms  can 
be  wisely  and  usefully  expended.  There  are  thousands  who 
ought  to  go  to  the  Almshouse  at  once,  —  who  will  be  more 
easily  supported  there  than  elsewhere,  —  and  it  is  no  charity 
to  squander  your  means  on  these.  A  great  majority  of  the 
destitute  can  be  far  better  dealt  with  by  associations  than  by 
individuals ;  and  of  good  associations  for  philanthropic  pur 
poses  there  is  happily  no  lack  in  any  great  city.  There  re 
mains  a  scanty  residuum  of  cases  wherein  money  or  food 
must  be  given  at  once,  by  whomsoever  happens  to  be  nearest 
to  the  sufferer ;  but  two  thirds  of  those  who  beg  from  door  to 
door,  or  who  write  begging  letters,  are  the  very  last  persons 
who  ought  to  be  given  even  a  shinplaster  dime.  And,  as  a 
general  rule,  the  importunity  of  a  beggar  is  in  inverse  ratio  to 
his  deserving,  or  even  to  his  need. 

—  "  Then  you  condemn  borrowing  and  lending  entirely  ? " 
No,  I  do  not.  Many  a  man  knows  how  to  use,  wisely  and 
beneficently,  means  that  he  does  not,  while  others  do,  possess  : 
lending  to  such,  under  proper  safeguards,  is  most  commend 
able.  Many  a  young  farmer,  who,  by  working  for  others,  has 
earned  one  thousand  dollars,  and  saved  a  good  part  of  it,  is 
now  prepared  to  work  a  farm  of  his  own.  He  who  lends 
such  a  youth  from  one  thousand  to  two  thousand  dollars, 
wherewith  to  purchase  a  farm,  taking  a  mortgage  thereon  for 
the  amount,  and  leaving  to  the  young  farmer  his  own  well- 
earned  means  wherewith  to  buy  stock  and  seed,  provisions 
and  implements,  will  often  enable  him  to  work  his  way  into 
a  modest  independence,  surrounded  and  blessed  by  a  wife  and 


BEGGARS  AND  BORROWERS.  199 

children,  —  himself  a  useful  member  of  society,  and  a  true 
pillar  of  the  State,  —  when  he  must,  but  for  that  loan,  have 
remained  years  longer  single  and  a  hireling.  So,  a  young 
mechanic  may  often  be  wisely  and  safely  aided  to  establish 
himself  in  business  by  a  timely  and  well-secured  loan ;  but 
this  should  never  be  accorded  him  till,  by  years  of  patient, 
frugal  industry,  he  has  qualified  himself  for  mastery,  and 
proved  himself  worthy  of  trust.  (Of  traders,  there  will  always 
be  too  many,  though  none  should  ever  be  able  to  borrow  a 
dollar.)  But  improvident  borrowing  and  lending  are  among 
our  most  prevalent  and  baneful  errors ;  and  I  would  gladly 
conduce  to  their  reformation. 

I  hold  that  it  may  sometimes  be  a  duty  to  lend ;  and  yet 
I  judge  that  at  least  nine  of  eveiy  ten  loans  to  the  needy 
result  in  loss  to  the  lender,  with  no  substantial  benefit  to  the 
borrower.  That  the  poor  often  suffer  from  poverty,  I  know ; 
but  oftener  from  lack  of  capacity,  skill,  management,  efficiency, 
than  lack  of  money.  Here  is  an  empty-handed  youth  who 
wants  much,  and  must  have  it ;  but,  after  the  satisfaction  of 
his  most  urgent  needs,  he  wants,  above  all  things,  ability  to 
earn  money  and  take  good  care  of  it.  He  thinks  his  first 
want  is  a  loan ;  but  that  is  a  great  mistake.  He  is  far  more 
certain  to  set  resolutely  to  work  without  than  with  that  pleas 
ant  but  baneful  accommodation.  Make  up  a  square  issue,  — 
"  Work  or  starve  ! "  -  —  and  he  is  quite  likely  to  choose  work ; 
while,  provided  he  can  borrow,  he  is  more  likely  to  dip  into 
some  sort  of  speculation  or  traffic.  That  he  thus  almost  in 
evitably  fools  away  his  borrowed  money  concerns  only  the 
unwise  lender ;  that  he  is  thereby  confirmed  in  his  aversion 
to  work,  and  squanders  precious  time  that  should  fit  him  for 
decided  usefulness,  is  of  wider  and  greater  consequence.  The 
widow,  the  orphan,  the  cripple,  the  invalid,  often  need  alms, 
and  should  have  them;  but  to  the  innumerable  hosts  of 
needy,  would-be  borrowers  the  best  response  is  Nature's, — 
"Boot,  hog,  or  die!" 


XXIV. 

DRAMATIC    MEMORIES. 

I  KNOW  not  that  the  instinctive  yearning  of  human  beings 
for  dramatic  representations,  and  the  delight  with  which 
these  are  witnessed,  alike  by  cit  and  savage,  may  not  be  a 
dictate  of  Man's  innate  and  utter  depravity,  inspired  by  the 
great  author  of  evil ;  yet  I  bear  unhesitating  testimony  to  its 
existence.  It  is  very  nearly  half  a  century  since  my  father, 
lying  on  a  sick-bed,  and  supposed  to  be  asleep,  was  intensely 
amused,  as  I  afterward  heard  him  relate,  by  witnessing  the 
gambols  of  his  three  younger  children,  —  all  between  eight 
and  three  years  old,  —  who  rudely  recast  into  a  dramatic  form 
the  nonsensical  old  song  of  "  A  frog  he  would  a-wooing  go," 
and  enacted  it  —  each  personating  one  of  the  animals  men 
tioned  therein  —  for  their  own  mutual  delectation  ;  supposing 
that  no  one  else  was  cognizant  of  the  performance.  I  have 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  one  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  a 
theatre  or  play  prior  to  that  unique  effort. 

Four  or  five  years  later,  after  we  had  migrated  to  Vermont, 
what  was  called  an  "  exhibition  "  —  that  is,  a  play  —  was  set 
on  foot  in  our  Westhaven  school  district,  prompted  by  the 
master,  and  I  was  allotted  a  part  therein.  The  drama  was 
entitled,  I  think,  "  The  Fall  of  Bonaparte,"  and  was  intensely 
saturated  with  detestation  of  the  great  but  fallen  Corsican, 
who,  I  believe,  was  still  living,  though  in  reduced  circum 
stances.  I  recollect  that  my  part  was  that  of  either  General 
or  Captain  Lescourt  (both  were  in  the  play,  and  I  have  for 
gotten  which  was  mine) ;  I  only  recollect  that  it  was  as  full 
of  execration  of  the  destroyer  of  French  liberty,  the  betrayer 


DRAMATIC  MEMORIES.  201 

of  the  hopes  of  the  untitled  millions,  as  even  /  could  wish  to 
utter.  I  recollect  that  we  had  several  recitations,  and  that 
the  play  nearly  spoiled  our  studies  for  that  Winter;  but  I 
cannot  be  certain  of  the  consummation.  I  believe  our  play 
was  played  —  badly,  of  course;  for  the  performers  did  not 
average  twelve  years  old,  and  not  one  of  them  had  ever  seen 
a  drama  really  enacted.  If  any  one  asserts  from  knowledge 
that  that  long-expected  and  intently  prepared-for  "  exhibition" 
failed,  for  some  reason,  to  come  off,  I  shall  not  contradict 
him,  though  my  impression  is  different. 

More  years  passed ;  and  at  length,  while  an  apprentice  at 
Poultney,  an  "exhibition"  was  advertised  to  come  off  one 
evening  in  the  church  at  Wells,  six  miles  south  of  us :  so  a 
party  was  made  up  to  attend  it,  —  I  being  one  of  that  party. 
Wells  had  rather  a  hard  reputation  in  those  days  (perhaps 
from  the  ill  behavior  of  those  who  went  thither  from  neigh 
boring  towns  to  "  carry  on  " ) ;  which  fame,  I  trust,  it  has  since 
outgrown.  It  was  late  in  Winter,  with  deep  snow,  but  thaw 
ing  ;  so  that,  to  protect  us  from  the  balls  of  ice  and  snow  con 
stantly  thrown  at  us  from  our  horse's  feet,  a  long  board  had 
been  set  up  on  edge  across  the  front  of  our  rude  sleigh,  or, 
rather,  sled ;  and  this,  in  passing  a  point  of  rock  which  pro 
jected  into  the  narrow  road  through  the  forest  which  skirted 
"  Lake  St.  Austin "  (otherwise  Wells  Pond),  was  caught  and 
held;  so  as  to  rake  the  sled  clear  of  its  human  freight.  I 
received  a  hurt  on  my  right  shin  which  remained  unhealed 
for  years.  But  no  one  complained,  all  laughed ;  and  we  were 
soon  all  on  board  and  in  motion  again ;  reaching  Wells  in  good 
time  for  the  "exhibition."  The  church  was  crowded  with 
eager,  and  not  very  critical,  auditors ;  the  players  were  con 
siderably  older  than  we  of  Westhaven  were  at  the  date  of  our 
maiden  effort ;  and  I  presume  the  playing  was  better,  mainly 
because  it  could  not  easily  be  worse.  There  were  several 
pieces  (most  of  them  literally  so)  on  the  bills,  and  all  were 
duly  undergone ;  yet  even  their  names  have  escaped  me. 
One  peculiarity  remains  firmly  imbedded  in  my  memory. 
There  was  a  scene  in  one  of  the  plays  wherein  a  man  snugly 


202  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

hidden  amid  the  thick  branches  of  an  evergreen  tree  overhears 
a  plot  to  commit  robbery,  and  perhaps  murder  also.  Where 
upon  he  bides  his  time,  and  duly  precipitates  himself  on  the 
robber  (or  robbers)  in  the  very  act,  putting  him  (or  them)  to 
death  or  flight,  and  gallantly  rescuing  the  intended  victim. 
Well :  here  is  where  the  laugh  comes  in :  The  tree  —  a  sub 
stantial  pine  or  hemlock,  some  eight  inches  through,  and 
twenty  feet  high  —  had  been  firmly  implanted  in  the  stage 
before  the  "  exhibition  "  began ;  and  there  it  remained  to  the 
end,  —  forming  a  noticeable,  but  not  very  congruous,  portion 
of  the  furniture  of  every  parlor,  boudoir,  prison-cell,  court 
room,  &c.,  &c.,  from  first  to  last.  If  city  audiences  were  less 
fastidious,  I  suspect  that  managers  might  have  learned  how 
to  retrench  their  expenses  for  furniture,  fixtures,  scenery, 
attendants,  &c.,  by  studying  that  Wells  "  exhibition." 

Unluckily,  some  of  my  companions  on  that  excursion  were 
of  the  "  won't  go  home  till  morning "  stamp,  and  could  not 
see  wrhy  any  one  should  go  to  Wells  unless  to  have  a  "  high 
old  time."  They  controlled  the  team,  and  would  neither  set 
it  on  the  road  to  Poultney,  nor  permit  the  rest  of  us  to  do  so, 
until  late  the  next  day,  Meantime,  they  would  neither  sleep 
nor  tolerate  slumber  on  the  part  of  any  one  else.  The  per 
formances  of  the  latter  half  of  the  night  were  a  little  wilder 
and  rougher  than  any  I  was  ever  before  or  since  implicated 
in,  however  innocently,  and  Wells  was  nowise  to  blame  there 
for.  I  never  saw  that  respected  village  save  during  that 
single  visit ;  and  I  sincerely  trust  that  my  reputation  there 
is  not  based  on  the  average  conduct  of  my  party  on  that  ex 
ceptionally  boisterous  occasion.  It  was  never  before  nor 
since  so  hard  for  me  to  work  as  during  the  afternoon  and 
evening  following  our  return  to  Poultney. 

More  years  passed ;  I  had  migrated  to  this  city ;  and,  in 
December,  1831,  I  was  first  a  spectator  of  a  genuine  dramatic 
performance.  The  place  was  the  Old  Bowery ;  the  play  was 
AVilliam  Tell ;  the  hero's  son  was  personated  by  a  Miss  Mes- 
tayer,  then  in  her  early  teens,  and  still,  I  think,  on  the  stage, 
though  I  have  not  seen  her  these  many  years.  The  night 


DRAMATIC  MEMORIES.  203 

was  intensely  cold,  in-doors  as  well  as  out ;  the  house  was 
thin ;  the  playing  from  fair  to  middling ;  yet  I  was  in  rap 
tures  from  first  to  last.  I  have  since  thought  that  the  wise 
way  would  be  to  choose  a  fit  occasion,  go  once  to  a  good 
theatre,  and  never  darken  the  doors  of  any  playhouse  again. 
I  never  yet  entered  a  green-room,  and  have  no  desire  to  enter 
one ;  but,  dim  as  is  my  eyesight,  I  cannot  now  help  seeing 
boards,  and  paint  (coarsely  laid  on),  and  spangles,  and  general 
tawdriness,  where  I  once  saw  glory,  and  beauty,  and  splendor, 
and  poetry,  —  life  idealized,  and  Paradise  realized.  Yes  ;  un 
less  to  recall  lost  dreams  while  watching  the  ecstasies  of  chil 
dren  on  their  first  visit,  I  judge  that  the  wise  man  is  he  who 
goes  but  once  to  the  theatre,  and  keeps  the  impression  then 
made  on  his  mind  fresh  and  clear  to  the  close  of  life. 

During  that,  my  first  Winter  in  New  York,  a  new  theatre 
was  opened  at  Eichmond  Hill  (corner  of  Charlton  and  Varick 
Streets),  in  what  was  said  to  have  been  Aaron  Burr's  country- 
seat  thirty  years  before,  and  was  still  deemed  far  up  town, 
though  now  far  below  the  bulk  of  our  population.  There 
were  no  street-cars,  and  scarcely  an  omnibus,  in  those  days  ; 
Eichmond  Hill  was  away  from  the  great  thoroughfares ;  so, 
though  the  house  was  small,  it  was  seldom  well  filled ;  and 
we  journeymen  printers,  who  worked  on  newspapers  that 
helped  the  theatres  to  auditors,  were  admitted  on  orders  from 
the  editors  respectively  on  Saturday  evenings,  when  audiences 
were  habitually  and  emphatically  thin.  I  think  I  thus  at 
tended  ten  or  twelve  times,  —  oftener  than  in  any  five  con 
secutive  years  thereafter.  The  manager  was  a  Mr.  Russell,  — 
gossip  said  Mrs.  Russell,  who  was  certainly  the  better  player, 
and  presumptively  a  cleverer  person,  than  her  husband,  whose 
talents  were  nevertheless  respectable.  Here  I  saw  Mrs.  Duff 
personate  Lady  Macbeth  better  than  it  has  since  been  done  in 
this  city,  though  she  played  for  $  30  per  week,  and  others 
have  received  ten  times  that  amount  for  a  single  night.  I 

o  o 

doubt  that  any  woman  has  since  played  in  our  city,  —  and 
I  am  thinking  of  Fanny  Kemble,  —  who  was  the  superior  of 
Mrs.  Duff  in  a  wide  range  of  tragic  characters.  I  am  not 


204  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

sufficiently  familiar  with  the  present  stage  to  render  my  judg 
ment  of  much  value ;  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  Henry  Placide 
at  the  Park  was  a  better  general  comedian  than  we  now  have, 
though  John  S.  Clarke  and  Joseph  Jefferson  probably  each 
surpass  him  in  a  certain  round  of  characters,  and  Sothern 
stands  alone  as  Lord  Dundreary.  Barney  Williams  is  a  clever 
Irishman  of  his  kind ;  so  is  William  J.  Florence :  but  is  not 
this  decidedly  a  poorer  kind  than  the  genial,  gentlemanly 
Irishman  of  the  lamented  Power  ?  I  have  seen  fellows  (none 
of  these)  personating  Irishmen  on  our  stage,  — and  with  a 
rude,  Chinese  fidelity  to  a  low,  vulgar  type  of  Irish  character, 
-who  seemed  to  me  deserving  of  indictment  as  libellers  of 
an  unlucky  race,  who,  with  all  their  faults,  never  yet  made 
themselves  despicable. 

A  glad  vision  is  evoked  from  the  long-buried  past  as  I  recall 
and  reveiw  the  playing  I  have  seen,  —  that  of  Naomi  Vincent, 
who  appeared  at  the  Old  Bowery,  became  Mrs.  Hamblin,  and 
died  while  still  very  young.  I  never  saw  her  off  the  stage ; 
am  not  sure  that  she  was  beautiful,  nor  even  that  she  had  the 
elements  of  a  great  actress  in  her  nature ;  but  beauty  of  mind 
she  must  have  had,  or  her  face  greatly  belied  her.  I  never 
saw  another  walk  the  stage  with  such  an  ingenuous,  trustful, 
confiding  manner,  evincing  either  artlessness  or  the  perfection 
of  art,  —  in  her  case,  I  am  sure,  it  must  have  been  the  former. 
Yet  her  dramatic  capacities  were  barely  in  the  bud  —  hardly 
in  the  blossom  —  when  she  was  called  away  by  inexorable 
Death. 

While  in  Europe,  I  attended  some  half  a  dozen  plays,  — 
mainly  operatic,  —  but  the  only  one  that  much  impressed  me 
was  that  wherein  several  popular  authors  took  part,  in  behalf 
of  the  fund  for  the  relief  of  their  luckless  and  decayed  brethren. 
The  Duke  of  Devonshire  had  fitted  up  a  theatre  in  his  London 
palace, —  a  very  large  and  fine  one, —  Bulwer  had  written  "  Not 
so  Bad  as  we  Seem  "  for  the  occasion ;  and  the  leading  parts 
in  it  were  presented  by  Douglas  Jerrold,  Mark  Lemon,  Charles 
Dickens,  &c.,  &c.  I  believe  the  actresses  were  drawn  from  the 
ranks  of  the  profession ;  so  that  their  playing  was  less  bad  than 


DRAMATIC  MEMORIES.  205 

that  of  the  men,  who  were  for  the  most  part  —  not  to  speak  it 
profanely  —  sticks.  I  never  witnessed  more  melancholy  fail 
ures  than  the  attempts  at  dignity  and  courtesy  of  those  who 
stood  for  noblemen.  The  demonstration  of  Thackeray's  theory 
that  the  British  plebeian  is  essentially  a  snob  was  perfect. 
But  we  had  for  afterpiece  a  farce,  written  by  Dickens  and 
Mark  Lemon  conjointly ;  and  the  chief  part  —  that  of  a  smart, 
garrulous,  conceited  lawyer,  named  Gabblewig  —  was  played 
by  Dickens  most  admirably.  Though  it  was  not  concluded 
till  after  midnight,  I  suspect  most  of  the  auditors  found  this 
play  entirely  too  short. 

I  witnessed  the  ddbut  in  America  of  Fanny  Kemble  and 
her  father,  —  she  being  in  her  spring-time  of  youth  and  its 
comeliness  ;  he  either  a  man  of  little  genius,  or  suffering  from 
the  premature  decay  of  his  physical  powers.  I  heard  the 
first  notes  that  Jenny  Lind  condescended  to  exchange  for  our 
dollars,  —  either  of  them  of  greater  worth  than  those  of  to 
day.  As  I  never  heard  Malibran,  I  cannot  say  that  Jenny 
Lind's  vocal  power  exceeded  that  of  any  other  woman  who 
ever  lived,  though  I  suspect  such  was  the  fact.  I  saw  and 
heard  Forrest  in  his  later  prime,  and  judged  him  effective  in 
a  round  of  characters  by  no  means  the  highest.  When  in 
Paris,  I  attended  several  representations  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
c,ais,  and,  though  I  understood  little  that  was  said,  I  could 
not  fail  to  notice  the  wide  difference  between  French  and 
Anglo-Saxon  acting,  —  a  difference  nowise  creditable  to  the 
latter.  Off  the  stage,  the  French  are  more  demonstrative  and 
theatrical  than  the  English.  Why  is  it  that  their  positions 
are  reversed  before  the  foot-lights  ?  —  that  the  Frenchman  is 
there  quiet,  simple,  natural,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  quite  other 
wise.  Why  does  the  "  star "  of  our  kin  walk  as  though  on 
stilts,  and  speak  like  an  auctioneer's  bellman  ?  Can  any  one 
explain  this  strange  incongruity  ? 


Of  late  years,  I  have  seldom  visited  the  theatre,  unless  to 
accompany  some  country  friend  to  whom  a  play  was  a  novelty 


206  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  a  luxury ;  having  been  repelled  by  its  habitual  leaning 
to  the  side  of  Slavery,  Tippling,  and  other  iniquities  whereby 
some  men  derive  profit  from  others'  weaknesses.  The  stage 
was  of  old  a  powerful  ally  of  Liberty ;  yet,  throughout  our 
long  and  arduous  struggle  against  the  vilest  and  grossest  sys 
tem  of  oppression  ever  known,  it  had  ever  so  many  sneers 
and  slurs  to  each  cheering,  sympathizing  word  for  the  cham 
pions  of  Man's  right  to  his  own  limbs  and  sinews.  Why  this 
was,  I  stop  not  here  to  inquire :  I  rest  on  the  shameful  fact. 
And  the  Temperance  Reform  has  likewise  been  confronted 
at  every  step  by  scurrilous  jests,  insidious  flings,  and  mean 
insinuations,  from  before  the  foot-lights.  Hence  thousands, 
impatient  of  constant  misrepresentation  and  insult,  have  aban 
doned  the  theatre. 

I  believe  that  it  is  even  yet  possible  to  restore  the  failing 
prestige  of  the  stage,  —  to  revive  its  by-gone  glories  in  the 
ages  when  eminent  moralists,  like  Addison  and  Dr.  Johnson, 
were  its  steadfast  patrons,  and  when  actors  like  Garrick  and 
John  Philip  Kemble  were  the  honored  and  intimate  friends 
of  the  proudest  nobles  in  the  land.  But,  to  achieve  this,  we 
must  have  a  manager  who  can  nowise  be  bribed  or  tempted 
to  minister  to  prurient  appetites,  nor  pettifog  the  cause  of 
the  oppressor.  We  must  have  a  stage  which  commands 
the  respect  of  the  wise  and  good,  of  the  philanthropic  and 
humane,  by  never  varnishing  villany,  never  sneering  at  vir 
tue,  never  pandering  to  lewd  impulses,  nor  gilding  with  soph 
istry  the  car  of  triumphant  wrong.  I  know  that  "  confidence 
is  a  plant  of  slow  growth,"  —  that,  once  justly  forfeited,  it  is 
not  easily  regained ;  yet  I  feel  sure  that  there  will  yet  be  a 
stage  which,  by  years  of  patient,  self-sacrificing  devotion  to 
right  and  justice,  to  freedom  and  humanity,  will  win  the  favor 
and  support  of  the  noble  and  worthy,  and  will  exert  a  benign 
influence  over  the  earthly  progress  and  destiny  of  our  race. 


XXV. 

"OLD    ZACK." 

OUE  Whig  anticipations  of  malign  results  from  the  defeat 
of  Clay  by  Polk,  in  the  Presidential  contest  of  1844, 
were  fully  justified  by  the  result.  The  XXIXth  Congress, 
elected  with  Polk,  was  strongly  Democratic ;  Mr.  Eobert  J. 
Walker,  of  Mississippi,  who  was  made  Secretary  of  the  Treas 
ury,  devoted  his  first  annual  Eeport  to  an  elaborate  and  skil 
ful  attack  on  the  Protective  policy,  and  on  the  Tariff  of  1842  ; 
and  Congress  proceeded  thereupon  to  pass  a  new  Tariff,  sub 
stantially  as  drafted  by  Mr.  Walker,  which  not  only  effaced 
or  modified  the  Protective  features  of  the  Tariff  of  1842,  but 
substituted  Ad  Valorem  for  nearly  every  Specific  duty  em 
bodied  in  the  latter.  In  other  words :  where  the  Tariff  of 
1842  imposed  a  duty  of  so  many  dollars  per  ton  on  a  particu 
lar  kind  of  iron  (for  instance),  that  of  1846  substituted  one 
of  30  per  cent,  on  its  value;  so  that,  whenever  iron  brought  a 
high  price,  the  duty  on  its  importation  was  correspondingly 
high ;  but,  when  the  price  ran  down  to  zero,  the  duty  was 
diminished  in  proportion;  being  thus  highest  when  it  was 
least  needed  by  our  iron-workers,  and  lowest  when  their  need 
of  Protection  was  greatest.  And  this  act,  though  opposed  by 
every  representative  of  Pennsylvania  in  Congress  but  one,  was 
carried  through  the  Senate  by  the  casting  vote  of  Vice-Presi- 
dent  Dallas,  whose  nomination  had  been  harped  upon  in  the 
Presidential  canvass  as  a  guaranty  to  Pennsylvania,  that  the 
Tariff  of  1842  would  stand  unaltered!  Thus  the  very  staff 
on  which  she  leaned  proved  a  spear  to  pierce  her. 

In  1844,  that  State  had  chosen  12  Democrats,  10  Whigs, 


208  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  2  Natives,  as  her  representatives  in  the  XXIXth  Con 
gress  ;  electing  the  Democratic  Governor  by  4,397  majority. 
We  took  an  appeal  to  her  people  in  the  election  of  1846,  and 
they  reversed  their  verdict  of  1844,  or,  rather,  attested  that 
they  had  been  deceived  in  rendering  it ;  choosing  the  Whig 
over  the  Democratic  candidate  for  Canal  Commissioner  (the 
only  office  filled  at  that  election  by  a  general  vote  of  her 
people)  by  a  majority  of  8,894,  on  a  light  vote.  At  this  elec 
tion,  she  chose  16  Whigs  and  1  Native  to  8  Democrats,  to 
represent  her  in  the  XXXth  Congress.  New  York,  New 
Jersey,  North  Carolina,  and  even  Virginia,  also  showed  decided 
Whig  gains  ;  so  that,  though  Maine,  New  Hampshire,  Indiana, 
Illinois,  Missouri,  and  Michigan  remained  strongly  Demo 
cratic,  along  with  the  Cotton  States,  the  new  House  had  a 
small  Whig  majority,  whereby  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  of  Boston, 
was  chosen  Speaker.  This  was  a  clear  verdict  against  Mr. 
Folk's  Administration,  and  more  "especially  against  its  deal 
ings  with  the  Tariff  question  in  acquiring  and  in  wielding 
power. 

Mr.  Polk  had  not  yet  been  inaugurated  when  the  indorse 
ment  and  momentum  given  to  the  Annexation  policy  by  his 
election  carried  a  bill,  providing  equivocally  for  the  acquisition 
of  Texas,  through  both  Houses  of  the  expiring  Congress, — the 
Senate  being  with  difficulty,  and  not  without  intimidation, 
induced  to  concur  therein  by  a  bare  majority.  President 
Tyler  eagerly  signed  it,  and  despatched  an  agent  post-haste  to 
Texas  to  secure  her  assent,  which  was  as  eagerly  given.  Mr. 
Polk,  soon  after  his  inauguration  (March  4,  1845),  despatched 
a  considerable  part  of  our  little  army,  under  General  Zachary 
Taylor,  to  the  southern  limit  of  the  territory  actually  pos 
sessed  by  the  Texans,  near  Corpus  Christi,  where  the  General 
halted,  and  awaited  explicit  orders  —  which  were  finally  sent 
him  —  to  cross  the  intervening  desert,  and  advance  to  the  Rio 
Grande  del  Norte,  nearly  opposite  Matamoros.  When  he  had 
thus  invaded  a  region  which  had,  except  for  a  very  few  days, 
been  in  peacefully  undisturbed  possession  of  Mexicans  for  at 
least  a  century,  he  was  attacked  by  a  Mexican  force,  under 


«  OLD  ZACK."  209 

Ampudia  and  Arista,  which  he  easily  routed,  first  at  Palo 
Alto ;  *  then,  pursuing,  at  Kesaca  de  la  Palnia  ;  f  whence  the 
Mexicans  were  driven  across  the  river  in  disorder ;  evacuating 
Matamoros,  when  General  Taylor  crossed,  without  making  a 
shadow  of  resistance.  And  the  war  thus  begun  was  prose 
cuted  with  such  manifest  disproportion  of  resources  and  of 
military  prowess,  that  New  Mexico  and  Upper  California  were 
yielded  to  our  arms  without  a  serious  contest.  General 
Taylor  defeated  Santa  Anna  with  an  army  thrice  as  numerous 
as  his  own  at  Buena  Vista,  J  in  the  heart  of  Northern  Mexico, 
where  fell  Henry  Clay,  Jr.,  at  the  head  of  his  Kentucky  regi 
ment,  and  Hon.  John  J.  Hardin,  of  Illinois,  also  commanding 
a  regiment  of  volunteers,  with  many  others  of  our  bravest  and 
best.  The  Mexicans'  loss  was,  as  usual,  considerably  heavier 
than  ours.  Further  advance  on  this  line  being  impracticable, 

—  the  country  being  in  the  main  a  rugged,  waterless  desert, 

—  General  Scott  was  despatched  with  an  army  considerably 
larger  than  General  Taylor's  to  Vera  Cruz,  which  he  soon  re 
duced  ;  §  advancing  thence,  with  10,000  men,  directly  on  the 
city  of  Mexico;  being  opposed  by  Santa  Anna,  with  15,000 
men,  at  a  difficult  and  strongly  fortified  pass  in  the  moun 
tains,  fifty  miles  inland,  known  as  Cerro  Gordo,  which  he 
carried  after  severe  fighting ;  ||  the  Mexicans  losing  five  gen 
erals  and  3,000  men.     Scott  thence  advanced  by  easy  marches, 
wholly  unopposed,  through  Xalapa  and  Perote,  to  Puebla, 
where  he  waited  some  time  in  expectation  of  peace ;  but  none 
was  offered,  and  he  again  advanced  to  the  vicinity  of  the 
capital,  where  Santa  Anna  had  collected  30,000  men  to  stop 
the  march  of  Scott's  12,000,  behind  such  intrenchments,  and 
in  positions  of  such  natural  strength,  that  he  deemed  them 
impregnable.     But  those  works  were  partly  turned  by  a  flank 
ing  movement  toward  the  South,  when  that  at  Contreras  was 
assaulted  at  3  A.  M.,  IF  and  carried  by  the  bayonet ;  the  Mexi 
cans  losing  22  guns,  700  killed,  and  1,500  prisoners.     Pur 
suing  their  advantage,  our  soldiers  next  attacked  the  Mexicans 

*  May  8,  1846.  J  February  22,  1847.  ]|  April  18. 

t  May  9.  §  March  27.  1  August  20. 

H 


210  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

at  Churubusco  (or  San  Pablo),  where  the  latter  were  again 
beaten,  after  a  protracted  resistance,  with  a  loss  of  1,000  on 
our  side  to  5,000  on  theirs.  The  battle  closed  at  the  gates  of 
the  city  of  Mexico,  which  General  Scott  might  at  once  have 
entered ;  but  he  chose  to  remain  outside,  while  a  volunteer 
effort  at  peace-making,  by  Mr.  Nicholas  P.  Trist,  was  made, 
without  immediate  result.  Meantime,  the  Mexicans  had 
strongly  intrenched  themselves  at  Chepultepec,  on  the  south 
side  of  the  city ;  and  another  fight  took  place  at  Molino  del 
Hey,*  near  Tambago,  where  General  Worth's  division  routed 
a  force  of  twice  its  own  numbers,  inflicting  a  loss  of  3,0.00, 
but  suffering  one  of  700,  including  Colonels  Martin  Scott  and 
Graham.  Chepultepec  was  next  bombarded  and  assaulted ;  f 
the  Mexicans  being  driven  from  it  with  great  loss,  and  pur 
sued  to  the  gates  of  the  city,  where  they  were  met  at  mid 
night  by  commissioners,  who  gave  notice  that  Santa  Anna 
was  escaping  with  the  remnant  of  his  forces,  and  that  the 
capital  was  at  General  Scott's  mercy.  Our  soldiers  —  reduced 
by  so  many  bloody  conflicts  to  about  6,000  effectives  — 
marched  in  without  further  resistance,  and  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  floated  over  the  "  halls  of  the  Montezumas  ! "  Peace 
—  despite  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  responsible  government 
wherewith  to  make  it  —  was  at  length  negotiated ;  J  Mexico 
ceded  New  Mexico  and  upper  California  to  the  United  States  ; 
abandoned  all  her  rights  in  or  claim  to  Texas ;  and  received 
from  us  an  indemnity  of  $15,000,000,  whereof  83,000,000 
were  to  be  reserved,  and  applied  to  the  payment  of  our  citi 
zens  who  had  claims  against  her  for  spoliations.  So  ended  — 
when  our  forces  had  been  withdrawn,,  and  the  stipulated  pay 
ments  made  —  our  war  upon  Mexico. 


The  Presidential  canvass  of  1848  opened  directly  there 
after.  General  Zachary  Taylor  —  a  native  of  Virginia,  but 
long  resident  in  Louisiana  —  had  evinced  qualities  in  the  war 
which  strongly  commended  him  to  many  as  a  candidate  for 

*  September  8.  t  September  12,  13.  \  February  2,  1848. 


"OLD  ZACK."  211 

our  highest  civil  office.  Though  his  part  in  it  was  less  bril 
liant,  less  important,  than  that  of  General  Scott,  he  had  com 
mended  himself  far  more  widely  to  popular  favor.  Quiet, 
resolute,  sententious,  unostentatious,  he  was  admired  by  mul 
titudes  who  profoundly  detested  the  war  wherein  he  had  so 
suddenly  achieved  renown ;  and  many  of  them  gloated  over 
the  prospect  of  hurling  from  power  the  politicians  who  had 
so  wantonly  plunged  us  into  a  contest  of  aggression  and  in 
vasion  by  means  of  the  very  instrument  which  they  had  em 
ployed  to  consummate  their  purposes. 

I  non-concurred  in  this  view,  most  decidedly.  General 
Taylor,  though  an  excellent  soldier,  had  no  experience  as  a 
statesman,  and  his  capacity  for  civil  administration  was  wholly 
undemonstrated.  He  had  never  voted ;  had,  apparently,  paid 
little  attention  to,  and  taken  little,  interest  in  politics ;  and, 
though  inclined  toward  the  Whig  party,  was  but  slightly  iden 
tified  with  its  ideas  and  its  efforts.  Nobody  could  say  what 
were  his  views  regarding  Protection,  Internal  Improvement, 
or  the  Currency.  On  the  great  question  —  which  our  vast 
acquisitions  from  Mexico  had  suddenly  invested  with  the 
gravest  importance  —  of  excluding  Slavery  from  the  yet  un 
tainted  Federal  Territories,  he  had  nowise  declared  himself; 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  an  extensive  slaveholder  justified 
a  presumption  that  he,  like  most  slaveholders,  deemed  it  right 
that  any  settler  in  the  Territories  should  be  at  liberty  to  take 
thither,  and  hold  there  as  property,  whatever  the  laws  of  his 
own  State  recognized  as  property.  "We  desired  to  "  take  a 
bond  of  fate  "  that  this  view  should  not  be  held  by  a  Whig 
President,  at  all  events. 

And  then  I  (with  many  others)  wanted  to  try  over  again 
the  issue  on  which  I  thought  we  had  been  defrauded  in  1844 
It  seemed  impossible  that  Pennsylvania  (in  view  of  her  recent 
experience)  should  again  be  persuaded  that  any  Democrat 
was  as  good  a  Protectionist  as  Henry  Clay.  True,  we  had 
not  defeated  Governor  Shunk's  reelection  in  1847;  but  the 
running  of  distinct  Whig  and  Native  candidates  for  Governor 
rendered  our  defeat  inevitable.  New  York  we  had  carried  in 


212  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

1847  by  a  very  large  majority,  —  the  Free-Soil  section  of  the 
Democratic  party  withholding  its  votes  from  the  pro-Slavery 
or  "Hunker"  State  ticket.  The  Whigs  of  our  State  were 
mainly  for  Clay ;  we  could  give  him  her  electoral  vote ;  and 
this,  with  Pennsylvania,  made  his  election  morally  certain. 
Hence  I  worked  hard  to  secure  his  nomination. 

The  attempt  to  run  a  parallel  between  this  case  and  that  of 
1840  failed  in  the  most  material  point.  General  Harrison 
may  not  have  been  so  able  as  Mr.  Clay,  but  he  was  not  less 
earnestly  and  unequivocally  a  Whig.  No  one  could  indicate 
a  shade  of  difference  in  their  political  views.  General  Harri 
son's  military  career  was  brief  and  casual ;  his  life  had  been 
that  of  a  civilian,  honored  and  trusted  by  all  Administrations 
between  1800  and  1828,— a  Territorial  Governor,  United 
States  Senator,  and  Ambassador  to  Columbia.  General  Taylor, 
now  an  old  man,  had  been  in  the  regular  army  from  boyhood, 
and  was  in  all  things  a  veteran  soldier.  His  slender  acquaint 
ance  with  and  interest  in  politics  was  nowise  feigned,  but  was 
usual  and  natural  with  men  of  his  class  and  position. 

The  WTiig  National  Convention  met  at  Philadelphia  on  the 
1st  of  June.  There  was  a  pretty  full,  but  not  extraordinary, 
attendance.  I  believe  ex-Governor  Morehead,  of  North  Caro 
lina,  presided.  It  was  very  soon  apparent  that  the  shrewd, 
influential,  managing  politicians  were  generally  for  Taylor, 
who  had  a  plurality,  but  not  a  majority,  on  the  first  ballot, 
and  gained  steadily  on  the  two  following,  viz. :  - 

1st.  2d.  3d. 

Tavlor, Ill  118  133 

Clay, 97  86  74 

Scott, 43  49  54 

Webster, 22  22  17 

Scattering, 6  — 

An  adjournment  was  now  had  till  next  morning ;  but  the 
issue  was  already  decided,  and  General  Taylor  was  nominated 
on  the  next  ballot;  when  the  vote  stood:  Taylor,  171 ;  Clay, 
35 ;  Scott,  60 ;  Webster,  14.  All  that  we  Clayites  achieved 
was  the  substitution  of  Millard  Fillmore  as  Vice-President  for 
Abbott  Lawrence,  of  Boston,  who  was  on  the  Taylor  slate  ;  but 


"  OLD  ZACK."  213 

the  evidences  of  dissatisfaction  induced  the  managers  to  take 
him  off,  and  let  Mr.  Fillmore  be  nominated. 

The  Democrats  had  met  at  Baltimore,  May  22,  and,  after  a 
spirited  contest,  nominated  General  Lewis  Cass,  of  Michigan, 
for  President,  and  General  William  0.  Butler,  of  Kentucky, 
for  Vice-President.  This  ticket  was  respectable  both  as  to 
character  and  services,  yet  its  prospects  were  marred  by  the 
fact  that  that  faction  of  the  New  York  Democracy  which  had 
been  known  as  "  Barnburners,"  or  Free-Soil  men,  resenting 
the  admission  of  their  competitors  to  seats  in  the  Convention, 
had  bolted,  and  refused  to  be  governed  by  the  result.  Ulti 
mately,  they  united  with  the  Abolitionists,  and  with  sym 
pathizing  Democrats  in  other  States,  in  holding  a  National 
Convention  at  Buffalo,  which  nominated  Martin  Van  Buren, 
of  New  York,  for  President,  and  Charles  Francis  Adams,  of 
Massachusetts,  for  Vice-President.  This  ticket,  though  it 
obtained  no  single  electoral  vote,  blasted  the  hopes  of  General 
Cass  and  the  regular  Democracy.  Eunning  General  Dix  for 
Governor  of  this  State,  with  Seth  M.  Gates  (Abolition)  for 
Lieutenant-Governor,  it  polled  a  larger  popular  vote  than  was 
given  to  Cass ;  while  General  Taylor  —  though  he  received 
many  thousands  fewer  of  the  people's  votes  than  Mr.  Clay  did 
four  years  previous  —  carried  the  State  by  98,093  plurality. 
He  carried  Pennsylvania  likewise  by  13,357  plurality,  and 
2,274  majority  over  all.  Vermont  and  Connecticut  gave  him 
pluralities  only;  while  Massachusetts,  Pthode  Island,  New 
Jersey,  Delaware,  Maryland,  North  Carolina,  Georgia,  Ken 
tucky,  Tennessee,  Louisiana,  and  Florida  gave  him  absolute 
majorities :  making  fifteen  States  in  all  that  went  for  him, 
giving  him  163  electoral  votes.  General  Cass  had  pluralities 
only  in  Maine,  Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Michigan,  Wisconsin, 
and  Iowa,  just  carrying  the  two  last  named  ;  he  was  run  very 
close  by  Taylor  in  Virginia,  Alabama,  and  Mississippi,  but 
earned  them  by  majorities,  as  there  was  no  third  party  in 
either.  New  Hampshire,  Texas,  and  Arkansas  were  all  the 
States  that  went  strongly  for  him  ;  making  fifteen  States  in  all, 
casting  127  electoral  votes.  General  Cass  received  the  vote 


214  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

of  every  State  lying  north  and  west  of  the  Ohio  and  Missouri 
rivers.  General  Taylor  had  a  plurality  of  the  popular  vote  in 
the  Free,  and  a  small  majority  of  that  cast  in  the  Slave  States ; 
carrying  seven  of  the  former  and  eight  of  the  latter.  In  the 
entire  Union,  the  popular  vote  stood:  Taylor,  1,361,450;  Cass, 
1,221,920;  Van  Buren,  291,342.  (South  Carolina  choosing 
her  electors  by  the  Legislature,  no  return  of  her  popular  vote 
can  be  given.) 

In  the  event,  I  think  the  anticipations  of  those  who  had 
favored  and  those  who  had  opposed  General  Taylor's  nomina 
tion  as  the  Whig  candidate  for  President  were  both  realized. 
He  proved  an  honest,  wise,  fearless  public  servant,  —  true  to 
his  convictions,  but  yielding  all  proper  fealty  and  deference 
to  those  whose  votes  had  placed  him  in  the  White  House. 
None  more  keenly  regretted  his  sudden,  untimely  death  — 
which  occurred  on  the  9th  of  July,  1850,  after  he  had  been 
sixteen  months  President  —  than  those  who  had  most  strenu 
ously  resisted  his  nomination. 

Yet  the  fact  remains,  that  the  Whig  party  was  demoralized 
by  that  nomination,  and  lost  ground  thereby  in  the  confidence 
of  the  masses.  We  had  fought  through  our  great  struggle  of 
1844  on  well-defined,  important  principles  of  national  policy, 
whereon  we  were  at  odds  with  our  adversaries.  We  had 
challenged  them  to  meet  us,  and  had  met  them,  in  face-to- 
face  discussion  of  our  respective  views,  and  had  shown  the 
people  how  and  why  their  personal  prosperity  and  well-being 
would  be  promoted  by  the  triumph  of  our  ideas,  our  measures. 
Beaten  in  the  declared  result,  the  Whig  party  never  stood  so 
strong  in  the  popular  conviction  that  its  aims  were  just  and 
its  policy  beneficent,  as  at  the  close  of  the  canvass  of  1844, 
—  as  was  evinced  in  our  carrying  the  next  House  of  Eepre- 
sentatives.  On  the  other  hand,  our  success  in  1848  was  the 
triumph  of  General  Taylor,  not  of  our  principles.  It  showed 
that  a  majority  preferred  General  Taylor  to  General  Cass  for 
President :  that  was  all.  WTe  had  fought  the  contest,  not  on 
our  principles,  but  on  our  candidates ;  hence,  many  who 
accepted  our  candidates  were  indifferent  or  averse  to  our 


"  OLD  ZACK."  215 

principles  ;  and  the  very  House  elected  with  or  under  General 
Taylor  chose  a  Democratic  Speaker,  and  was  organized  to 
oppose  his  Administration.  The  Whigs  could  not  say  with 
Pvrrhus,  "  Another  such  victory,  and  I  am  ruined  ! "  This 
one  sufficed  to  disintegrate  and  destroy  their  organization. 
They  were  at  once  triumphant  and  undone. 


I  think  I  never  'saw  General  Taylor  save  for  a  moment  at 
the  Inauguration  Ball,  on  the  night  after  his  accession  to  the 
Presidency.  I  was  never  introduced  and  never  wrote  to  him ; 
and,  while  I  ultimately  supported  and  voted  for  him,  I. did  not 
hurry  myself  to  secure  his  election.  In  fact,  that  of  1848  was 
my  easiest  and  least  anxious  Presidential  canvass  since  1824. 
When  a  resolve  opposing  the  Wilmot  Proviso  was  laid  on  the 
table  at  the  Convention  that  nominated  him,  I  felt  that  my 
zeal,  my  enthusiasm  for  the  Whig  cause  was  also  laid  there. 

Yet  I  have  little  faith  in  third-party  movements,  —  which 
are  generally  impelled  by  an  occult  purpose  to  help  one  of  the 
leading  parties  by  drawing  off  votes  from  the  other.  General 
Taylor°  at  length  avowed  himself  "  a  Whig,  but  not  an  ultra 
Whig  "  ;  and  I  believe  that  was  about  the  literal  truth.  Zeal 
ous  Whigs  apprehended  that  he  might,  if  elected,  shrink  from 
discharging  the  officeholders  appointed  by  Tyler  and  Polk; 
but,  after  giving  him  a  trial,  they  were  constrained  to  admit 
that  he  "turned  out  better  than  had  been  expected."  He 
was  a  man  of  little  education  or  literary  culture,  but  of  signal 
good  sense,  coolness,  and  freedom  from  prejudice.  Few 
trained  and  polished  statesmen  have  proved  fitter  depositaries 
of  civil  power  than  this  rough  old  soldier,  whose  life  had  been 
largely  passed  in  camp  and  bivouac,  on  the  rude  outskirt  of 
civilization,  or  in  savage  wastes  far  beyond  it.  General  Taylor 
died  too  soon  for  his  country's  good,  but  not  till  he  had 
proved  himself  a  wise  and  good  ruler,  if  not  even  a  great 
one. 


XXVI. 

CONGRESS.  — MILE  A-GE. 

IN  our  State  Election  for  1846,  David  S.  Jackson  (Demo 
crat)  had  been  chosen  to  represent  the  upper  district  of 
our  city  in  the  XXXth  Congress,  by  a  small  majority  over 
Colonel  James  Monroe  (Whig).  That  majority  was  obtained 
by  bringing  over  from  Blackwell's  Island  and  polling  in  the 
XlXth  Ward  the  adult  male  paupers  domiciled  in  the  Alms- 
house  —  not  merely  those  who  had  resided  in  our  district 
before  they  honored  our  city  by  condescending  to  live  at  her 
expense,  but  those  who  had  been  gathered  in  from  other  dis 
tricts.  Colonel  Monroe  objected  to  this  as  carrying  a  joke  too 
far ;  and,  on  his  contesting  the  return  of  Mr.  Jackson,  the 
House  sustained  the  objection,  and  unseated  Jackson  without 
replacing  him  by  Monroe.  The  people  were  required  to  vote 
again. 

By  this  time,  it  was  1848,  —  the  year  of  General  Taylor's 
election.  Colonel  Monroe  confidently  expected  to  be  the 
Whig  candidate,  not  merely  for  the  vacancy,  but  for  the  ensu 
ing  (XXXIst)  Congress.  The  delegates,  however,  were  "fixed" 
for  Mr.  James  Brooks,  editor  of  The  Express,  who  was  duly 
nominated  for  the  XXXIst,  while  Colonel  Monroe  was  ten 
dered  the  nomination  for  the  remaining  ninety  days  (at  8  8 
per  day)  of  the  XXXth  Congress.  He  declined  indignantly ; 
whereupon,  that  fag-end  of  a  term  was  tendered  to  me.  I  at 
first  resolved  to  decline  also,  —  not  seeing  how  to  leave  my 
business  so  abruptly  for  a  three  months'  sojourn  at  Washing 
ton  ;  but  the  nomination  was  so  kindly  pressed  upon  me,  with 
such  apparently  cogent  reasons  therefor,  that  I  accepted  it. 


CONGRESS.  —  MILEAGE.  217 

There  was  never  any  doubt  of  the  result.  A  politician  soon 
called  on  me,  professing  to  be  from  Mr.  Brooks,  to  inquire  as 
to  what  should  be  done  to  secure  our  election.  "Tell  Mr. 
Brooks,"  I  responded,  "that  we  have  only  to  keep  so  still 
that  no  particular  attention  will  be  called  to  us,  and  General 
Taylor  will  carry  us  both  in.  There  are  not  voters  enough 
in  the  district  who  care  about  either  of  us,  one  way  or  the 
other,  to  swamp  the  majority  that  the  Taylor  Electors  cannot 
fail  to  receive."  The  returns  proved  the  correctness  of  this 
calculation ;  the  vote  of  the  district  standing  as  follows  :  — 

Electors Taylor 11,066 

XXXth  Congress.     .     .     Greeley 9,932 

XXXIst  Congress     .     .     Brooks 9,709 

My  Cass  competitor  had  6,826  votes ;  my  Van  Buren  ditto, 
1,681. 

General  Taylor  received  but  a  plurality  of  the  vote  of  our 
entire  State,  while  Mr.  Van  Buren's  popular  vote  exceeded 
that  for  General  Cass;  but  in  our  city  the  case  was  quite 
otherwise ;  the  aggregates  being  :  Taylor,  29,057 ;  Cass,  18,884; 
Van  Buren,  5,106.  I  believe  that  was  the  very  last  election 
wherein  our  city  ever  gave  a  clear  majority  against  the  Demo 
cratic  party,  save  that  in  1854  her  vote  was  pretty  evenly 
divided  between  the  Democratic,  Whig-Republican,  and  Know- 
Nothing  parties.  Owing  to  the  Democratic  split,  nearly  or 
quite  all  the  Representatives  elected  from  our  city  to  the 
XXXIst  Congress  were  Whigs. 

The  district  from  which  I  was  chosen  included  all  our  city 
above  Fourteenth  Street,  with  the  Xlth,  XVth,  and  XVIIth 
Wards  lying  below  that  street.  It  then  contained  about  one 
third  of  the  city's  entire  population ;  it  now  contains  at  least 
two  thirds.  When,  soon  after  taking  my  seat,  I  introduced  a. 
bill  authorizing  each  landless  citizen  of  the  United  States  to 
occupy  and  appropriate  a  small  allotment  of  the  National 
Domain  free  of  charge,  a  Western  member  wanted  to  know 
why  New  York  should .  busy  herself  as  to  the  disposal  of  the 
Public  Lands.  I  responded  that  my  interest  in  the  matter 
was  stimulated  by  the  fact  that  I  represented  more  landless 
men  than  any  other  member  on  that  floor. 


218  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

When  the  pay  of  Members  of  Congress  was  originally  fixed, 
railroads  and  steamboats  as  yet  were  not ;  stage-coaches  ran 
on  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  great  highways  of  travel ;  most  of 
the  members  came  part  of  the  way  on  horseback,  as  some 
came  all  the  way.  It  was  therefore  deemed  just,  in  fixing 
their  compensation  at  8  6  per  day,  to  stipulate  that  a  like  sum 
should  be  allowed  as  mileage,  or  the  cost  in  time  and  money 
of  journeying  each  twenty  miles  on  the  roads  to  and  from 
Washington. 

Congress,  in  time,  raised  its  own  pay  to  $  8  per  day,  and  $  8 
for  every  twenty  miles  in  coining  to  and  returning  from 
Washington.  In  1816,  the  pay  was  changed  to  8 1,500  per 
annum,  the  mileage  remaining  as  before ;  but  the  people 
revolted  at  this,  and  swept  out  nearly  every  member  who  had 
voted  for  it.  Henry  Clay  had  not  voted  at  all  on  the  ques 
tion;  but  he  was  Speaker  when  the  bill  passed,  and  was, 
therefore,  held  responsible  for  its  passage,  —  a  responsibility 
which  he  gallantly  met.  Opposed  for  reelection  by  one-armed 
John  Pope,  —  one  of  the  ablest  men  then  living  in  Kentucky, 
but  who  labored  under  the  serious  disadvantage  of  having 
been  a  Federalist,  —  Mr.  Clay  had  all  he  could  do,  by  popular 
addresses  and  personal  appeals,  to  stem  the  tide  of  discontent 
raised  by  the  passage  of  the  Compensation  Act;  even  his 
barber  —  a  naturalized  Irishman,  who  had  hitherto  been  one 
of  his  most  enthusiastic,  efficient  supporters  —  maintaining 
an  ominous  silence  on  the  subject,  until  Mr.  Clay  himself 
canvassed  him,  saying  :  "  I  trust  I  may  count  on  your  hearty 
support,  as  usual  ? "  when  he  responded  :  "  Faith,  Mr.  Clay,  I 
think  I  shall  vote  this  time  for  the  man  who  can  get  but  one 
hand  into  the  Treasury." 

Mr.  Clay  triumphed,  as  he  ever  did  when  a  candidate  for 
the  House ;  but  he  had  to  promise  to  favor  a  repeal  of  the 
Compensation  Act,  which  was  carried  without  serious  opposi 
tion.  I  think  it  was  at  this  time  that  the  pay  was  advanced 
from  $  6  to  $  8  per  day  :  mileage  to  correspond. 

But  the  introduction  and  rapid  multiplication  of  steamboats, 
especially  on  our  great  trans-Alleghany  network  of  rivers 


CONGRESS.  —  MILEAGE.  219 

and  lakes,  rendered  this  mileage  absurdly  too  high.  A  mem 
ber  now  traversed  a  distance  of  two  thousand  miles  about  as 
quickly  as,  and  at  hardly  more  expense  than,  his  predecessor 
by  half  a  century  must  have  incurred  on  a  journey  of  two 
hundred  miles,  for  which  the  latter  was  paid  $80,  and  the 
former  $  800. 

Nor  was  this  all.  The  steamboat  routes,  though  much 
more  swiftly  and  cheaply  traversed,  were  nearly  twice  — 
sometimes  thrice  —  the  length  of  the  stage  and  horseback 
roads  they  superseded.  And  —  as  the  law  said  at  first,  and 
continued  to  say,  that  they  were  to  charge  Mileage  "  by  the 
usually  travelled  route" — they  now  charged  and  received  twice 
as  much  for  travelling  five  days  in  a  sumptuous  cabin,  replete 
with  every  luxury,  as  their  fathers  paid  for  roughing  it  over 
the  mountains  in  fifteen  to  twenty  days,  at  a  far  greater  cost. 

Colonel  Benton,  —  who  deemed  himself,  and  meant  to  be, 
an  honest  man,  —  somewhere  about  1836,  made  a  claim  on 
the  Treasury  for  about  $  2,000,  which  (he  computed)  was  re 
quired  to  bring  up  his  Mileage  in  past  years  to  a  par  with 
the  charges  of  others !  —  and  this  amount  was  allowed  and 
paid  him. 

Said  First  Comptroller  Elisha  Whittlesey  to  me,  near  the 
close  of  his  long,  upright,  and  useful  public  life  :  "  Even  Mr. 
Calhoun  has  increased  his  charge  for  Mileage  since  the  old 
horseback  and  stage-coach  days :  and  there  is  just  one  man 
in  Congress  who  charges  Mileage  now  as  all  did  then.  That 
man  is  HENRY  CLAY." 

Getting  into  the  House,  I  had  access  to  the  schedules  of 
Compensation  and  Mileage,  which  (though  they  are  said  to 
be  printed)  were  not  (and  are  not)  easily  found  by  outsiders ; 
and  I  resolved  to  improve  my  opportunity.  So  I  hired  a 
reporter  to  transcribe  them,  and  (using  as  a  basis  of  compari 
son  the  United  States  Topographer's  official  statement  of  the 
distances  from  Washington,  by  the  most  direct  mail-route,  of 
each  post-office  in  the  country)  I  aimed  to  show  exactly  how 
much  could  be  saved,  in  the  case  of  each  member,  by  com 
puting  Mileage  on  the  most  direct  post-route  instead  of  "  the 


220  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

usually  travelled  route."  This  cxpostf,  when  prepared,  was 
transmitted  to  New  York,  duly  appeared  in  The  Tribune,  and 
so  came  back  to  Washington. 

I  had  expected  that  it  would  kick  up  some  dust ;  but  my 
expectations  were  far  outrun.  It  happened  that  two  of  our 
Whig  members  from  Ohio  had  been  run  out  by  close  votes  at 
the  recent  election  (October,  1848),  and  that  the  crooked  Mile 
age  they  charged  had  been  used  with  effect  by  their  oppon 
ents  in  the  canvass.  It  might  be  all  right  for  them  to  charge 
Mileage  from  the  heart  of  Ohio  around  by  Lake  Erie  to  Wash 
ington,  when  the  Government  had  constructed  a  first-rate 
national  road  from  the  vicinity  of  Baltimore  due  west  through 
Zanesville  and  Columbus  to  Indianapolis ;  but  the  people 
did  n't  or  would  n't  see  it.  These  beaten  sore-heads  were 
specially  prompt  and  eager  in  preaching  a  crusade  against  me 
on  the  floor. 

Good  and  true  men  shared,  to  some  extent,  their  feelings. 
Earely,  for  example,  has  our  country  been  served  by  a  purer, 
more  upright  man  than  Hon.  Jacob  Collarner,  of  Vermont. 
"  Mr.  Greeley,"  said  he  to  me,  "  is  it  not  hard  that  I  should  be 
held  up  to  the  public  as  a  swindler  ?  Look  at  the  facts :  I 
live  in  Woodstock.  I  take  the  stage  to  Windsor,  —  twenty- 
two  miles,  —  where  I  strike  the  nearest  railroad.  I  ride 
thence  by  rail  to  Boston ;  from  Boston  to  New  York ;  from 
New  York  to  Washington.  It  is  the  easiest  and  quickest 
route  I  can  take,  —  the  natural  route  of  travel.  I  charge  for 
the  miles  I  actually  travel,  —  not  one  more.  Why  is  not  this 
right?" 

"  Judge,"  I  responded,  "  now  hear  me.  Your  predecessors, 
I  happen  to  know,  took  stage  from  Woodstock  to  Eutland ; 
from  Rutland  to  Troy ;  thence  steamboat  to  New  York  ;  thence 
railroad  to  Washington.  It  is  now  cheaper  and  easier  for 
you  to  go  by  Boston,  —  three  hundred  miles  farther.  Will 
you  tell  me  why  you  should  be  paid  $  240  more  per  annum 
because  this  cheaper  and  easier  route  has  lately  been  opened  ? 
I  concede  you  the  advantage  of  the  improved  transit.  I  pro 
test  against  your  charging  $  240,  and  the  people  paying  it, 
therefor.  That  is  not  just." 


CONGRESS.  —  Ml  LEA  GE.  221 

The  only  answer  I  ever  received  to  this  way  of  putting  the 
case  was,  "  Such  is  the  law."  But  Congress  was  master  of  the 
law^  — :  able,  at  any  time,  to  make  it  just,  —  therefore  bound 
to  make  it  just.  It  was  the  object  of  my  expose  to  compel 
such  adjustment. 

General  J.  J.  McKay,  of  North  Carolina,  once  came  across 
to  my  seat.  He  was  a  stern,  pro-Slavery  Democrat,  and  it 
was  not  the  habit  of  such  to  waste  civilities  on  me. 

"  Mr.  Greeley,"  he  said,  "  you  have  printed  me  as  charging 
seven  miles  more  than  the  actual  distance  from  my  home  to 
Washington.  The  fact  is  not  so.  I  charge  precisely  as  you 
say  is  just,  —  by  the  shortest  mail-route ;  but  I  live  seven 
miles  beyond  my  post-office,  and  I  charge  from  my  own  house." 

"  How  could  I  know  that  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  You  could  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not  blaming  you ;  on 
the  contrary,  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done. .  It  was 
needed,  and  will  do  good.  I  only  wished  that  you  should 
know  the  facts." 


As  I  remember,  the  Mileage  expose  was  first  brought 
formally  to  the  notice  of  the  House  by  Hon.  William  Sawyer, 
of  Ohio,  —  a  very  bitter  Democrat,  who  had  been  annoyed,  ere 
this,  by  the  strictures  of  a  correspondent  of  The  Tribune  on 
his  habit  of  eating  a  luncheon  in  the  House  behind  the 
Speaker's  chair.  He  had  a  new  grievance  in  the  Mileage 
expose',  —  in  that,  though  the  expost  correctly  stated  the  dif 
ference  between  his  Mileage  as  charged,  and  what  it  would  be 
if  computed  by  the  most  direct  mail-routes,  there  was  a  blun 
der  in  the  case  of  his  nearest  Whig  neighbor,  Hon.  Eobert  C. 
Schenck,  whose  overcharge  was  not  made  nearly  so  much  as  it 
should  be.  Schenck  promptly  rose  and  offered  to  swap  with 
his  colleague,  if  that  would  afford  him  any  satisfaction.  It 
did  n't. 

There  was  one  shabby  dodge  of  those  who  stretched  their 
Mileage  to  the  utmost,  that  challenged,  but  did  not  command, 
my  admiration  :  Each  of  them  would  find  out  which  old  stager 


222  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

living  near  him  had  crowded  his  Mileage  up  to  the  highest 
high-water  mark;  and,  upon  being  asked  by  the  Chairman  of 
the  Committee  on  Mileage  to  state  his  distance  from  Washin"- 
ton,  would  respond,  « I  live  -  -  miles  beyond  [or  this  side 
of]  Mr.  -  — ."  The  Chairman  would  make  out  his  Mileage 
accordingly;  and  now  the  indignantly  virtuous  beneficiarV 
would  say,  «/  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  The 
Chairman  made  out  my  Mileage  as  he  saw  fit,  and  I  took 
whatever  he  allowed  me." 

The  cleverer  wounded  pigeons  knew  a  great  deal  better 
than  to  take  issue  with  me  directly  on  the  Mileage  question  • 
whereon  (as  I  told  them)  they  were  a  party  of  ten-score  con 
fronted  by  twenty-odd  millions.     Their  true  expedient  was  a 
back-fire ;  and  they  contrived  to  set  one.     This  Congress  had, 
at  its  former  session  (when  I  was  not  a  member),  voted  itself 
the  books  which  it  had  for  years  been  the  custom  to  purchase 
for  each  new  member,  consisting  of  American  Archives  De 
bates  in  Congress,  etc.,  now  swelled  (by  enormous  chafes) 
to  a  cost  of  about  $  1,000  per  man.     Those  books  had  been 
ordered  and  bought;  nothing  remained  but  to  pay  for  them. 
I  had  resolved  to  vote  against  this  item  when  the  bill  which 
contained  it  came  up  in  the  House,  though  I  knew  it  must  be 
paid ;  for  I  apprehended  that  the  advocates  of  what  are  called 
liberal  appropriations  would  seek  to  make  capital  out  of  my 
voting  for  such  an  item.     Yet,  when  the  usual  Deficiency 
Bill  was  rapidly  going  through  the  House  in  Committee  of 
the  Whole,  the  members  being  called  on  a  dozen  times  in 
twenty  minutes  to  vote  (by  rising)  for  or  against  some  motion 
or  item,  a  mischievous  neighbor  called  out  to  me,  "  There,  — 
you  Ve  voted  for  the  books  ! "     I  presume  it  was  so  ;  and  'his 
exultation  was  based  on  his  knowledge  that  it  was  my  pur 
pose  to  vote  against  them.     And  yet  (as  I  had  often  said) 
had  those  books  been  bought  at  fair  prices,  and  deposited  as 
public  property  by  the  receivers  in  public  libraries  and  county 
clerk's  offices  in  their  respective  districts,  the  outlay  would 
have  been  judicious  and  proper.     It  was  well  known,  how 
ever,  that  many  to  whom  the  books  were  voted  never  took 


CONGRESS.  —  MILE  A  GE.  223 

nor  saw  them,  —  merely  drawing  an  order  for  them  and  sell 
ing  it  to  the  book-suppliers  for  so  much  cash  in  hand,  —  less 
than  half  what  the  books  cost  the  Treasury.  In  one  case,  a 
member  well  known  to  me  was  reputed  to  have  sold  his  order, 
and  gambled  away  the  proceeds,  before  going  to  his  lodging 
the  night  after  the  appropriation  was  voted. 

A  concerted  effort  was  made  to  involve  me  in  glaring  incon 
sistency  on  this  subject,  —  A.  testified  that  I  had  justified  the 
book-buying,  —  B.  that  I  had  denied  having  intended  to  vote 
for  it,  —  and  so  on.  I  presume  that  what  each  so  asserted 
was  true,  or  nearly  so ;  a  very  slight  explanation  might  have 
harmonized  statements  which  were  so  made  as  to  seem  in 
conflict.  For  a  time,  it  looked  as  though  the  Mileage  men 
had  the  upper  hand  of  me ;  and  I  was  told  that  a  paper  was 
drawn  up  for  signatures  to  see  how  many  would  agree  to  stand 
by  each  other  in  voting  my  expulsion,  but  that  the  movement 
was  crushed  by  a  terse  interrogatory  remonstrance  from  Hon. 
John  Wentworth,  then  a  leading  Democrat. 

"  Why,  you  blessed  fools ! "  warmly  inquired  '  long  John,' 
"  do  you  want  to  make  him  President  ? " 

They  did  n't,  and  so  subsided. 

Much  has  been  said  on  sundry  occasions  about  the  time  / 
wasted,  the  trouble  /  made,  in  the  House,  concerning  Mileage. 
In  fact,  I  did  not  introduce  the  subject  there,  —  made  no 
move  regarding  it,  —  and  scarcely  alluded  to  it.  Hon.  Elijah 
Embree,  of  Indiana,  moved  an  amendment  to  the  proper  Ap 
propriation  Bill,  providing  that  Mileage  should  thenceforth 
be  charged  by  the  most  direct  mail-route,  —  a  clause  which 
would  have  saved  to  the  Treasury  more  than  $  100,000  per 
annum,  —  and  I  voted  for  it ;  but  it  was  beaten  in  Committee 
of  the  Whole,  and  I  think  never  came  to  the  yeas  and  nays.  At 
all  events,  the  abuse  was  not  corrected,  and  has  not  yet  been ; 
though  the  last  Congress,  in  raising  its  own  pay  from  $  3,000 
to  85,000  per  annum,  had  the  grace  to  cut  down  Mileage 
from  forty  to  twenty  cents  per  mile  by  "  the  usually  travelled 
route."  But  I  think  it  is  no  longer  "  usual "  for  a  man  living 
in  central  Ohio,  Indiana,  or  Illinois  to  "swing  around  the 


224  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

circle/'  via  Detroit,  Buffalo,  Albany,  and  New  York,  in  travel 
ling  from  home  to  Washington  city;  in  fact,  railroads  are 
generally  straightening  and  shortening  the  "  usual "  routes  of 
travel.  I  presume,  therefore,  that  the  worst  excesses  of  the 
Mileage  swindle  have  ere  this  been  abated.  So  mote  it  be  ! 


I  do  not  imply  that  legislation,  whether  in  Congress  or  else 
where,  is  purer  and  cleaner  now  than  it  was  twenty  or  forty 
years  ago.  On  the  contrary,  I  judge  that  it  is  oftener  swayed, 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  public  interest,  by  considerations  of 
personal  advantage,  and  that  the  evil  tends  strongly  to  in 
crease  and  diffuse  itself.  The  chartering  of  railroads  through 
public  lands  which  are  required  (as  is  clearly  just)  to  contrib 
ute  to  their  construction,  whether  by  liberal  grants  of  terri 
tory  or  by  direct  subsidies  in  cash,  and  many  kindred  devices 
for  promoting  at  once  public  and  private  prosperity,  have 
strongly  tended  to ,  render  legislation  mercenary,  whether  in 
Congress,  in  State  legislatures,  or  in  municipal  councils. 
When  I  was  in  the  House,  there  were  ten  or  twelve  members 
—  not  more  than  twelve,  I  am  confident  — who  were  generally 
presumed  to  be  "  on  the  make,"  as  the  phrase  is ;  and  they 
were  a  class  by  themselves,  as  clearly  as  if  they  were  so  many 
black  sheep  in  a  large  flock  of  white  ones.  I  would  gladly 
believe  that  this  class  has  not  since  increased  in  numbers  or 
in  impudence ;  but  the  facts  do  not  justify  that  presumption. 


XXVII. 

CONGRESS   AS    IT   WAS. 

WHEN"  I  first  saw  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
in  the  Summer  of  1836,  I  judge  that  the  Senate  was 
the  ablest  body  of  its  numbers  on  earth.  Though  there  were 
scarcely  more  than  fifty  Senators  in  all,  among  them  were 
Henry  Clay,  Daniel  Webster,  John  C.  Calhoun,  Silas  Wright, 
John  Forsyth,  John  M.  Clayton,  George  B.  Poindexter, 
Thomas  Ewing,  William  C.  Preston,  Nathaniel  P.  Tall- 
madge,  and  James  Buchanan.  The  House,  though  less  no 
ticeably  strong,  contained  many  able  and  eminent  members, 
headed  by  the  "  old  man  eloquent,"  John  Quincy  Adams,  who 
had  been  —  with  James  K.  Polk  and  Franklin  Pierce,  of 
whom  each  was  to  be  —  President  of  the  United  States. 

When  I  entered  the  House  twelve  years  later,  Mr.  Adams 
had  recently  died  in  the  Capitol,  and  been  succeeded  by 
Horace  Mann,  who  won  much  honor  in  his  educational,  but 
little  distinction  in  his  parliamentary,  career.  The  Senate 
was  decidedly  weaker  than  when  I  first  looked  down  on  it 
from  the  gallery ;  but  Messrs.  Webster,  Calhoun,  and  Clayton 
were  still  members,  while  Messrs.  Wright,  Forsyth,  Poin 
dexter,  and  Preston  had  passed  away,  and  Mr.  Ewing  was 
living  (as  he  still  is)  in  retirement.  Mr.  Polk  was  President, 
and  Mr.  Buchanan  was  his  Secretary  of  State.  Mr.  Clay  had 
resigned  in  1842,  and  had  not  since  been  in  public  life,  save 
that  he  was  a  candidate  for  President  in  1844;  but  he  was 
reflected  to  the  Senate  that  winter,  and  served  thenceforth  till 
his  death,  June  29, 1852.  Mr.  Pierce,  after  serving  four  years 
in  the  House,  and  five  in  the  Senate,  had  resigned  in  1843, 
15 


226  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  had  since  been  in  retirement,  save  that  he  took  part  in 
the  Mexican  War.  He  had  been  so  completely  lost  to 
public  life  that  his  nomination  for  President,  three  or  four 
years  afterward,  seemed  nearly  equivalent  to  a  resurrection. 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  Andrew  Johnson  (each  then  about 
forty  years  old)  were  members  of  the  House  to  which  I  was 
chosen,  as  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  of  the  two  preceding  and 
remained  through  the  two  following,  when  he  was  translated 
to  the  Senate.  Mr.  Johnson,  being  a  Democrat,  seldom  vis 
ited  our  side  of  the  hall,  and  I  saw  much  less  of  him  than 
of  Mr.  Lincoln,  who  was  a  Whig,  and  who,  though  a  new 
member,  was  personally  a  favorite  on  our  side.  He  seemed 
a  quiet,  good-natured  man,  did  not  aspire  to  leadership,  and 
seldom  claimed  the  floor.  I  think  he  made  but  one  set 
speech  during  that  session,  and  this  speech  was  by  no  means 
a  long  one.  Though  a  strong  partisan,  he  voted  against  the 
bulk  of  his  party  once  or  twice,  when  that  course  was  dic 
tated  by  his  convictions.  He  was  one  of  the  most  moderate, 
though  firm,  opponents  of  Slavery  Extension,  and  notably  of 
a  buoyant,  cheerful  spirit.  It  will  surprise  some  to  hear  that, 
though  I  was  often  in  his  company  thenceforward  till  his 
death,  and  long  on  terms  of  friendly  intimacy  with  him,  I 
never  heard  him  tell  an  anecdote  or  story. 

I  judge  that  Massachusetts  had,  relatively,  the  strongest 
delegation  in  the  House ;  as  hers  included  Eobert  C.  Winthrop 
(Speaker),  Julius  Eockwell,  Joseph  Grinnell,  Charles  Hud 
son,  George  Ashinun,  Horace  Maim,  and  John  G.  Palfrey. 
Ohio  probably  ranked  next;  being  in  part  represented  by 
Samuel  F.  Vinton  (then  Chairman  of  Ways  and  Means), 
Eobert  C.  Schenck  (who  now  fills  that  post),  Joshua  E.  Gid- 
dings,  and  Joseph  M.  Eoot.  Of  the  Democrats  in  that  House, 
those  whom  I  recollect  as  strongest  were  James  J.  McKay 
and  Abraham  W.  Venable  of  North  Carolina,  Howell  Cobb 
of  Georgia,  John  Wentworth  of  Illinois,  Jacob  Thompson  of 
Mississippi,  and  George  W.  Jones  of  Tennessee.  Messrs. 
Alexander  H.  Stephens  and  Eobert  Toombs  of  Georgia  were 
conspicuous  members,  but  both  then  Whigs,  though  they 


CONGRESS  AS  IT  WAS.  227 

have  since  been  quite  otherwise.  Vermont  had  already  been 
reduced  to  three  representatives ;  but  two  of  these  were  Jacob 
Collamer  and  George  P.  Marsh.  Virginia  had  (I  believe) 
more  Whigs  in  that  House  than  in  any  before  or  since ;  and 
among  them  were  John  M.  Botts,  William  L.  Goggin,  and 
John  S.  Pendleton.  I  judge  that  A.  H.  Stephens  was  the 
most  acute,  and  perhaps  the  ablest,  member  of  that  House ; 
but  one  of  the  cleverest,  if  he  had  known  how  to  take  good 
care  of  himself,  was  William  T.  Haskell  of  Tennessee,  of 
whom  the  world  never  heard.  He  was  not  reflected,  and 
died  a  few  years  afterward. 

I  do  not  propose  to  give  here  a  history  of  the  little  that  was 
achieved  or  the  much  that  was  said  at  that  short  session.  As 
those  were  the  last  sands  of  an  Administration  already  super 
seded,  the  old  heads  of  either  party  were  indisposed  to  have 
much  done  beside  passing  the  necessary  Appropriation  bills  ; 
and  they  were  able  to  have  substantially  their  own  way. 

Tt  used  to  be  a  standing  topic  of  complaint,  in  Congress  as 
well  as  out  of  it,  that  too  much  time  was  wasted  there  in  de 
bate  on  abstractions,  and  especially  on  questions  relating  to 
Slavery.  I  was  repeatedly  asked,  "  Don't  you  want  the  floor 
for  a  speech  on  the  Slavery  question  ? "  —  to  which  I  answered 
that  I  did  not,  —  that  my  views  on  that  subject  were  already 
tolerably  well  known,  and  that  I  did  not  see  how  I  could 
use  the  time  of  the  House  to  public  advantage  by  haranguing 
it  on  the  threadbare  topic.  I  think  I  did  once  speak  some 
twenty  minutes  on  the  ruling  theme ;  but  it  was  on  an  even 
ing  set  apart  for  general  debate,  and  when  the  time  was  to  be 
thus  wasted  anyhow.  Yet,  one  day,  when  the  House  was  in 
Committee  on  some  bill  having  no  necessary  or  proper  con 
nection  with  Slavery,  a  member  rose  and  said,  "  Mr.  Chair 
man,  I  propose  to  improve  this  opportunity  to  give  my  views 
on  the  Slavery  question."  Hereupon  another  rose  and  said, 
"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  object.  The  subject  of  Slavery  is  not  now 
in  order.  The  rule  of  the  House  is  plain  and  imperative : 
the  only  subject  that  can  be  debated  is  that  expressly  before 
us.  I  insist  that  the  gentleman  shall  proceed,  if  at  all,  in 


228  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

order."  The  Chairman  decided  that,  since  it  had  long  been 
the  tolerated  practice  to  discuss  anything  pertaining  to  the 
state  of  the  Union  when  in  Committee  on  that  subject,  he 
should  rule  that  the  gentleman  was  in  order ;  and,  though  we 
rallied  a  respectable  force  to  overrule  this  decision,  it  was 
triumphantly  sustained,  —  those  who  were  frequently  de 
nouncing  "  Slavery  agitation  "  taking  the  lead  in  its  support. 

Sundry  attempts  at  reforming  what  were  considered  abuses 
were  made  that  Winter,  but  without  brilliant  success.  We 
tried  to  abolish  flogging  in  the  Navy,  but  were  beaten.  I 
think  it  was  Mr.  (now  General)  Schenck  who  raised  a  laugh 
against  us  by  proposing  so  to  amend  that  the  commander  of 
a  ship  of  war  should  never  order  a  sail  spread  or  reefed  with 
out  calling  all  hands  and  taking  a  vote  of  his  crew  on  the 
question.  We  were  temporarily  successful  in  voting  in  Com 
mittee  to  stop  dealing  out  strong  drink  to  the  sailors  and 
marines  in  our  Navy,  though  this,  too,  was  ultimately  de 
feated  ;  but,  in  the  first  flush  of  our  delusive  triumph,  a  mem 
ber  sitting  near  me,  who  had  voted  to  stop  the  grog  ration, 
said  to  a  friend  who  (I  believe)  had  voted  the  same  way,  — 
"  Gid,  that  was  a  glorious  vote  we  have  just  taken."  "  Yes, 
glorious,"  was  the  ready  response.  "  Gid,"  resumed  the  elated 
reformer,  "  let  us  go  and  take  a  drink  on  the  strength  of  it." 
"  Agreed,"  was  the  willing  echo ;  and  they  went. 

I  had  been  but  a  few  days  on  the  floor,  when  a  leading 
member  on  our  side  came  along  ,  canvassing  in  behalf  of  an 
embryo  proposition  that  the  House  should  pay  from  its  con 
tingent  fund  seven  dollars  and  a  half  per  column  each  to  The 
Union  and  The  National  Intelligencer  respectively  for  report 
ing  and  printing  our  debates.  "  You  can't  pass  that  scheme 
here,"  I  said,  somewhat  abruptly.  "  Well,  sir,  I  believe  you 
have  been  a  member  of  this  House  some  four  or  five  days," 
he  retorted ;  "  and  you  seem  to  begin  early  to  decide  what 
measures  can  and  what  cannot  pass."  "No  matter,"  I  re 
joined,  "you  can't  pass  that  measure  here."  Nevertheless, 
he  tried,  but  could  n't.  Up  to  this  period,  I  had  been  favor 
ably  regarded  and  kindly  treated  by  Messrs.  Gales  and  Seaton, 


CONGRESS  AS  IT   WAS.  229 

the  excellent  but  unthrifty  editors  of  The  National  Intelli 
gencer  ;  but  they  wasted  no  more  civilities  nor  smiles  on  me 
so  long  as  they  lived  respectively.  They  evidently  could  not 
realize  that  any  one  could  oppose  such  a  proposition  from 
any  impulse  other  than  one  of  personal  hostility  or  general 
malignity. 

An  abuse  had  crept  in,  a  few  years  before,  at  the  close  of 
a  long,  exhausting  session,  when  some  liberal  soul  proposed 
that  each  of  the  sub-officers  and  attaches  of  Congress  (whose 
name  is  Legion)  be  paid  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  extra 
because  of  such  protracted  labor.  Thenceforth,  this  gratuity 
was  repeated  at  the  close  of  each  session,  —  the  money  being 
taken  by  the  generous  members,  not  from  their  own  pockets, 
but  Uncle  Sam's,  and  the  vote  being  now  that  "  The  usual 
extra  compensation,"  &c.  As  our  session  was  a  light  as  well 
as  a  short  one,  some  of  us  determined  to  stop  this  Treasury 
leak;  and  we  did  it  once  or  twice,  to  the  chagrin  of  the 
movers.  At  length,  came  the  last  night  of  the  session,  and 
with  it  a  magnificent  "  spread,"  free  to  all  members,  in  one 
of  the  Committee-rooms,  paid  for  by  a  levy  of  five  dollars 
per  head  from  the  regiment  of  underlings  who  hoped  thus  to 
secure  their  "  usual "  gratuity ;  giving  each  a  net  profit  on 
the  investment  of  two  hundred  and  forty-five  dollars.  After 
the  House  had  been  duly  mellowed  and  warmed,  a  resolve 
to  pay  the  "usual  extra  compensation"  was  sprung,  but 
failed,  —  two  thirds  in  the  affirmative  being  necessary  to 
effect  the  requisite  suspension  of  the  rules.  Nothing  daunted, 
the  operators  drew  off  to  repair  damages ;  and  soon  there  was 
moved  a  resolve  to  pay  the  chaplain  of  the  House  his  stipend 
from  the  Contingent  Fund,  and  to  suspend  the  rules  to  accord 
this  resolve  an  immediate  consideration. 

"I  object,  Mr.  Speaker,"  I  at  once  interposed;  "we  all 
know  that  the  chaplain's  salary  has  not  been  left  unprovided 
for  to  this  time.  This  is  a  ruse,  —  I  call  for  the  Yeas  and 
Nays  on  suspending  the  rules." 

"  Shame  !  shame  ! "  rose  and  reverberated  on  every  side ; 
"  don't  keep  the  chaplain  out  of  his  hard-earned  money  !  Re 
fuse  the  Yeas  and  Nays  ! " 


230  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

They  were  accordingly  refused ;  the  rules  were  indignantly 
suspended,  and  the  resolution  received.. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  the  member  who  had  been 
cast  for  this  part,  "  I  move  to  amend  the  resolve  before  us  by 
adding  the  usual  extra  compensation  to  the  sub-clerks,  door 
keepers,  and  other  employes  of  the  House." 

No  sooner  said  than  done;  debate  was  cut  off,  and  the 
amendment  prevailed.  The  resolve,  as  amended,  was  rushed 
through ;  and  our  employes  pocketed  their  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  each,  less  the  five  dollars  so  recently  and  judi 
ciously  invested  as  aforesaid. 

I  was  placed  by  the  Speaker  on  the  Committee  on  Public 
Lands,  whereof  Judge  Collamer  of  Vermont  was  chairman, 
and  which  was  mainly  composed  of  worthy,  upright  men, 
intent  on  standing  up  for  public  right  against  private  greed. 
Various  fair-seeming  bills  and  claims  came  before  us,  some 
of  which  had  passed  the  Senate,  yet  which  we  put  our  heel 
on  as  barefaced  robberies.  Virginia  land-claims  (for  addi 
tional  bounty  lands  to  her  Eevolutionary  soldiers),  a  pre 
emption  to  part  of  Eock  Island,  a  preemption  claim  to 
Eelgrass  Island,  etc.,  were  among  the  jobs  remorselessly 
slaughtered  by  us :  our  self-complacency  —  not  to  say,  self- 
conceit  —  steadily  augmenting.  At  length,  there  came  along 
a  meek,  innocent-looking  stranger,  by  whom  we  were  nicely 
taken  in  and  thoroughly  done  for.  It  was  a  bill  to  cede  to 
the  several  New  States  (so  called)  such  portions  of  the  unsold 
public  lands  within  their  limits  respectively  as  were  sub 
merged  or  sodden,  and  thus  rendered  useless  and  pestilential, 
-  that  is,  swamps,  marshes,  bogs,  fens,  etc.  These  lands,  we 
were  told,  were  not  merely  worthless  while  undrained :  they 
bred  fevers,  ague,  and  all  manner  of  zymotic  diseases,  shorten 
ing  the  lives  of  the  pioneers,  and  rendering  good  lands  adja 
cent  unhealthy  and  worthless.  But  cede  these  swamp  lands 
to  the  States  including  them  respectively,  on  condition  that 
they  should  sell  them  and  devote  the  proceeds  to  draining 
and  improving  them,  and  everything  would  be  lovely,  —  the 
neighboring  dry  lands  would  sell  readily,  and  the  Treasury  be 


CONGRESS  AS  IT   WAS.  231 

generously  replenished,  etc.  There  was  never  a  cat  rolled 
whiter  in  meal ;  and  I,  for  one,  was  completely  duped.  As  I 
recollect,  the  bill  did  not  pass  at  that  session;  but  we  re 
ported  strongly  in  its  favor ;  and  that  report,  doubtless,  aided 
to  carry  the  measure  through  the  next  Congress.  The  con 
sequence  was  a  reckless  and  fraudulent  transfer  to  certain 
States  of  millions  on  millions  of  choice  public  lands,  whole 
sections  of  which  had  not  muck  enough  on  their  surface  to 
accommodate  a  single  fair-sized  frog ;  while  the  appropriation 
of  the  proceeds  to  draining  proved  a  farce  and  a  sham.  The 
lands  went,  —  all  of  them  that  had  standing  water  enough  on 
a  square  mile  of  their  surface  to  float  a  duck  in  March,  with 
a  good  deal  more  beside ;  while  never  a  shake  of  ague  has  any 
pioneer  been  spared  by  reason  of  all  the  drainage  done 
under  this  specious  act.  I  can  only  hope  that  some  of  us 
learned  a  wholesome  lesson  of  distrust. 

The  last  night  of  a  session  is  usually  a  long  one ;  and  ours 
was  not  only  long,  but  excited.  The  two  Houses  were  at 
variance :  The  House  desiring  (at  least,  voting)  to  prohibit 
the  introduction  of  Slavery  into  the  vast  territories  just  then 
acquired  from  Mexico ;  the  Senate  dissenting  from  that 
policy.  Of  course,  we  who  voted  for  the  restriction  could 
not  carry  it  through  nor  over  the  Senate.  But  that  body 
was  not  content  to  stand  on  the  defensive :  it  attached  to  the 
great  Civil  and  Diplomatic  Appropriation  bill  (since  divided) 
a  provision  for  the  organization  of  the  new  Territories,  —  of 
course,  without  the  restriction  against  Slavery,  —  and,  in 
effect,  said  to  us,  "You  shall  agree  to  this,  or  the  new  [Taylor] 
Administration  shall  not  have  a  dollar  to  spend  after  the  1st 
of  July  ensuing."  We  had  one  or  two  conferences  by  com 
mittee  ;  but  neither  House  would  give  way.  Finally,  the 
bill  came  back  to  us  on  this  last  evening,  —  the  Senate  in 
sisting  on  its  Territorial  amendment.  Each  side  had  rallied 
in  full  force  (there  were  but  three  of  all  the  representatives 
chosen  from  the  Slave  States  who  were  not  in  their  seats), 
and  we  were  morally  certain  to  be  beaten  on  a  motion  to 
recede,  —  three  or  four  weak  brethren  changing  their  votes 


232  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

rather  than  leave  the  Government  penniless  ;  when  some  one 
on  our  side  —  I  believe  it  was  Eichard  W.  Thompson  of 
Indiana  —  got  in  a  motion  to  concur,  with  an  amendment. 
This  amendment  accepted  the  Senate's  project  of  organizing 
the  new  Territories,  barely  adding  a  stipulation  that  the  exist 
ing  laws  thereof  should  remain  in  force  till  changed  ty  consent 
of  Congress.  (The  existing  laws  were  those  of  Mexico,  and 
forbade  Slavery.)  This  motion  prevailed  (as  I  recollect,  the 
vote  on  one  important  division  stood  one  hundred  and  eleven 
to  one  hundred  and  ten),  and  completely  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  matter.  The  pro-Slavery  men  were  now  as 
anxious  to  expunge  the  Territorial  clause  as  they  had  previ 
ously  been  determined  to  insert  it  at  all  hazards ;  and  the 
Senate  struck  out  its  cherished  provision,  and  let  the  Appro 
priation  bill  pass  as  it  originally  was,  leaving  the  question  of 
Slavery  in  the  new  Territories  as  a  legacy  of  trouble  to  the 
incoming  Administration.  Never  was  a  parliamentary  move 
more  clever  than  that  motion  to  concur  with  an  amendment. 
When  it  had  been  carried  through  our  House,  and  while 
the  Senate  was  chewing  upon  it,  there  ensued  a  hiatus  or 
interregnum,  —  the  House  having  really  nothing  to  do  but 
wait.  At  such  times,  any  member  who  has  a  pet  project  or 
bill  asks  a  suspension  of  the  rules  in  favor  of  its  considera 
tion.  Among  these  motions  was  one  by  Mr.  Eobert  W.  Johnson 
of  Arkansas,  who  wished  the  House  to  consider  a  bill  provid 
ing  payment  for  horses  lost  by  his  constituents  while  acting 
as  volunteers  in  Indian  wars.  His  motion  to  suspend  the 
rules  failed ;  when  I  drew  from  my  drawer  a  resolve,  which 
had  lain  there  for  weeks,  proposing  that  our  country  take  the 
general  name  of  COLUMBIA,  in  honor  of  the  great  discoverer. 
I  was  making  a  few  remarks  introductory  to  my  motion  to 
suspend  the  rules,  —  which  I  knew  would  be  defeated, — when, 
as  the  affair  was  afterward  explained  to  me,  Mr.  E.  W.  John 
son,  my  predecessor  on  the  floor,  turned  upon  Mr.  0.  B.  Fick- 
lin  of  Illinois,  who  sat  very  near  him,  and  angrily  said  : 
"  Ficklin,  why  do  you  always  oppose  any  motion  I  make  ? " 
"  I  did  not  oppose  your  motion,"  was  the  prompt  and  true 


CONGRESS  AS  IT   WAS.  233 

reply.  "  You  lie  ! "  rejoined  Johnson,  whose  powers  of  obser 
vation  were  not  then  in  their  best  estate,  and  he  sprang  for 
ward  as  though  to  clutch  Ficklin ;  when  Mr.  Samuel  W.  Inge 
of  Alabama  rushed  upon  the  latter,  and  struck  him  two  or 
three  blows  with  a  cane.  "  Order  !  Order  !  —  Sergeant-at- 
arrns,  do  your  duty  ! "  interposed  the  Speaker ;  and  the  affray 
was  promptly  arrested.  "  Why,  Inge,  what  did  you  fall  upon 
Ficklin  for  ? "  inquired  one  of  his  neighbors  ;  Ficklin  being  an 
intensely  pro-Slavery  Democrat,  as  were  Inge  and  Johnson. 
"  Why,  I  thought,"  explained  Inge,  "  that  the  fight  between 
the  North  and  the  South  had  commenced,  and  I  might  as 
well  pitch  in."  I  did  not  hear  him  say  this  ;  but  it  was  re 
ported  to  me  directly  afterward,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
said  and  thought  so. 

Mr.  Giddings  went  over  to  the  Democratic  side  of  the 
House  that  night,  and  made  some  jocular  remark  to  an  ac 
quaintance  on  the  change  of  aspect  since  we  had  made  and 
sustained  our  motion  to  concur  with  an  amendment,  —  when 
he  was  assaulted,  and  was  glad  to  get  away  quite  rapidly.  I 
am  confident  I  could  not  have  passed  quietly  through  that 
side  of  the  House  between  ten  and  two  o'clock  of  that  night 
without  being  assaulted ;  and,  had  I  resisted,  beaten  within 
an  inch  of  my  life,  if  not  killed  outright.  Yet  I  had  proposed 
nothing,  said  nothing,  on  the  exciting  topic ;  I  was  obnoxious 
only  because  I  was  presumed  earnestly  hostile  to  Slavery. 

I  believe  it  was  just  7  A.  M.  of  the  4th  of  March,  1849, — 
the  day  of  General  Taylor's  inauguration,  —  when  the  two 
Houses,  having  finished  all  the  inevitable  business  of  the 
session,  were  adjourned  without  day,  and  I  walked  down  to 
my  hotel,  free  thenceforth  to  mind  my  own  business.  I  have 
not  since  been  a  member,  nor  held  any  post  under  the  Federal 
Government ;  it  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  ever  again  hold  one ; 
yet  I  look  back  upon  those  three  months  I  spent  in  Congress 
as  among  the  most  profitably  employed  of  any  in  the  course 
of  my  life.  I  saw  things  from  a  novel  point  of  view ;  and,  if 
I  came  away  from  the  Capitol  no  wiser  than  I  went  thither, 
the  fault  was  entirely  my  own. 


XXVIII. 

GLAMOUR. 

I  BELIEVE  I  heard  vaguely  of  what  were  called  "  The 
Rochester  Knockings"  soon  after  they  were  first  pro 
claimed,  or  testified  to,  in  the  Spring  of  1848 ;  but  they  did 
not  attract  my  attention  till,  during  a.  brief  absence  from  New 
York,  —  perhaps  while  in  Congress,  —  I  perused  a  connected, 
circumstantial  account  of  the  alleged  phenomena,  signed  by 
several  prominent  citizens  of  Rochester,  and  communicated 
by  them  to  The  Tribune,  wherein  I  read  it.  It  made  little 
impression  on  my  mind,  though  I  never  had  that  repugnance 
to,  or  stubborn  incredulity  regarding,  occurrences  called  super 
natural  which  is  evinced  by  many.  My  consciousness  of 
ignorance  of  the  extent  or  limitations  of  the  natural  is  so  vivid, 
that  I  never  could  realize  that  difficulty  in  crediting  what  are 
termed  miracles,  which  many  affirm.  Doubtless,  the  first  per 
son  who  observed  the  attraction  of  iron  by  the  magnet  sup 
posed  he  had  stumbled  upon  a  contradiction  to,  or  violation 
of,  the  laws  of  nature,  when  he  had  merely  enlarged  his  own 
acquaintance  with  natural  phenomena.  The  fly  that  sees  a 
rock  lifted  from  its  bed  may  fancy  himself  witness  of  a  mira 
cle,  when  what  he  sees  is  merely  the  interposition  of  a  power, 
the  action  of  a  force,  which  transcends  his  narrow  conceptions, 
his  ephemeral  experience.  I  know  so  very  little  of  nature, 
that  I  cannot  determine  at  a  glance  what  is  or  is  not  super 
natural  ;  but  I  know  that  things  do  occur  which  are  decidedly 
superusual,  and  I  rest  in  the  fact  without  being  able,  or  feeling 
required,  to  explain  it. 

I  believe  that  it  was  early  in  1850  that  the  Fox  family,  in 


GLAMOUR.  235 

which  the  so-called  Knockings  had  first  occurred  or  been 
noted,  —  first  at  the  little  hamlet  known  as  Hydesville,  near 
Newark,  Wayne  Co.,  N.  Y.,  —  came  to  New  York,  and  stopped 
at  a  hotel,  where  I  called  upon  them,  and  heard  the  so-called 
"  raps,"  but  was  neither  edified  nor  enlightened  thereby. 
Nothing  transpired  beyond  the  "  rappings  "  :  which,  even  if 
deemed  inexplicable,  did  not  much  interest  me.  In  fact,  I 
should  have  regretted  that  any  of  my  departed  ones  had  been 
impelled  to  address  me  in  the  presence  and  hearing  of  the 
motley  throng  of  strangers  gathered  around  the  table  on  which 
the  "  raps  "  were  generally  made. 

I  had  no  desire  for  a  second  "  sitting,"  and  might  never  have 
had  one ;  but  my  wife  —  then  specially  and  deeply  interested 
in  all  that  pertains  to  the  unseen  world,  because  of  the  recent 
loss  of  our  darling  "  Pickie "  —  visited  the  Foxes  twice  or 
thrice  at  their  hotel,  and  invited  them  thence  to  spend  some 
week  or  so  with  her  at  our  house.  There,  along  with  much 
that  seemed  trivial,  unsatisfactory,  and  unlike  what  might 
naturally  be  expected  from  the  land  of  souls,  I  received  some 
responses  to  my  questions  of  a  very  remarkable  character, 
evincing  knowledge  of  occurrences  of  which  no  one,  not  an 
inmate  of  our  family  in  former  years,  could  well  have  been 
cognizant.  Most  of  these  could  have  no  significance  or  co 
gency  to  strangers ;  but  one  of  them  seems  worth  narrating. 

It  was  the  second  or  third  day  after  the  Foxes  came  to  our 
house.  I  had  worked  very  hard  and  late  at  the  office  the 
night  before,  reaching  home  after  all  others  were  in  bed ;  so  I 
did  not  rise  till  all  had  had  breakfast  and  had  gone  out,  my  wife 
included.  When  I  rose  at  last,  I  took  a  book,  and,  reading 
on  a  lounge  in  our  front  parlor,  soon  fell  into  an  imperfect 
doze,  during  which  there  called  a  Mrs.  Freeman,  termed  a 
clairvoyant,  from  Boston,  with  her  husband  and  an  invalid 
gentleman.  They  had  together  visited  Niagara  Falls,  had 
seen  the  Foxes  at  Eochester  on  their  way ;  and  now,  return 
ing,  had  sought  them  at  their  hotel,  and  followed  them  thence 
to  our  house.  As  they  did  not  inquire  for  me,  being  unaware 
of,  as  well  as  indifferent  to,  my  presence  in  the  house,  they 


236  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

were  shown  into  the  back  parlor,  separated  by  sliding-doors 
from  that  in  which  I  was,  and  they  there  awaited  the  return 
of  the  Foxes,  which  occurred  in  about  half  an  hour.  The 
sliding-doors  being  imperfectly  closed,  I  drowsily  heard  the 
strangers  urge  the  Foxes  to  accompany  them  to  their  hotel ; 
saying,  "  We  feel  like  intruders  here."  This  impelled  me  to 
rise  and  go  into  the  back  parlor,  in  order  to  make  the  stran 
gers  welcome.  Mrs.  Freeman  had  been  already,  or  was  soon 
afterward,  magnetized  by  her  husband  into  the  state  termed 
clairvoyance,  wherein  she  professed  to  see  spirits  related  to 
those  who  were  put  into  magnetic  rapport  with  her.  What 
she  reported  as  of  or  from  those  spirits  might  be  ever  so  true 
or  false  for  aught  /  know.  At  length  —  merely  to  make  the 
strangers  feel  more  at  their  ease  —  I  said,  "  Mr.  Freeman,  may 
not  /  be  put  into  communication  with  spirits  through  Mrs. 
Freeman  ? "  to  which  he  readily  assented,  placed  my  hand  in 
hers,  made  a  few  passes,  and  bade  me  ask  such  questions  as  I 
would.  As  she  had  just  reported  the  presence  of  spirit  broth 
ers  and  sisters  of  others,  I  asked,  "  Mrs.  Freeman,  do  you  see 
any  brothers  or  sisters  of  mine  in  the  spirit  world  ? "  She 
gazed  a  minute  intently,  then  responded,  "  Yes,  there  is  one ; 
his  name  is  Horace,"  and  then  proceeded  to  describe  a  child 
quite  circumstantially.  I  made  no  remark  when  she  had  con 
cluded,  though  it  seemed  to  me  a  very  wild  guess,  even  had 
.she  known  that  I  had  barely  one  departed  brother,  that  his 
name  was  identical  with  my  own,  though  such  was  the  fact. 
I  resumed,  "  Mrs.  Freeman,  do  you  see  any  more  brothers  or 
sisters  of  mine  in  the  spirit  world  ? "  She  looked  again  as 
before ;  then  eagerly  said,  "  Yes,  there  is  another ;  her  name 
is  Anna  —  no  —  her  name  is  Almira  —  no  (perplexedly),  I 
cannot  get  the  name  exactly,  —  yet  it  begins  with  A."  Now 
the  only  sister  I  ever  lost  was  named  Arminda,  and  she,  as 
well  as  my  brother,  died  before  I  was  born,  —  he  being  three, 
and  she  scarcely  two,  years  old.  They  were  buried  in  a  se 
cluded  rural  graveyard  in  Bedford,  N.  H.,  about  sixty  years 
ago,  and  no  stone  marks  their  resting-place.  Even  my  wife 
did  not  know  their  names,  and  certainly  no  one  else  present 


GLAMOUR.  237 

but  myself  did.  And,  if  Mrs.  Freeman  obtained  one  of  these 
names  from  my  mind  (as  one  theory  affirms)  why  not  the  other 
as  well  ?  since  each  was  there  as  clearly  as  the  other. 

Not  long  after  this,  I  had  called  on  Mademoiselle  Jenny  Lind, 
then  a  new-comer  among  us,  and  was  conversing  about  the 
current  marvel  with  the  late  N.  P.  Willis,  while  Mademoiselle 
Lind  was  devoting  herself  more  especially  to  some  other  call 
ers.  Our  conversation  caught  Mademoiselle  Lind's  ear,  and 
arrested  her  attention ;  so,  after  making  some  inquiries,  she 
asked  if  she  could  witness  the  so-called  "  Manifestations." 

I  answered  that  she  could  do  so  by  coming  to  my  house  in 
the  heart  of  the  city,  as  Katy  Fox  was  then  staying  with  us. 
She  assented,  and  a  time  was  fixed  for  her  call ;  at  which 
time  she  appeared,  with  a  considerable  retinue  of  total  stran 
gers.  All  were  soon  seated  around  a  table,  and  the  "rappings" 
were  soon  audible  and  abundant.  "Take  your  hands  from 
under  the  table  ! "  Mademoiselle  Jenny  called  across  to  me 
in  the  tone  and  manner  of  an  indifferently  bold  archduchess. 
"  What  ?  "  I  asked,  not  distinctly  comprehending  her.  "  Take 
your  hands  from  under  the  table  ! "  she  imperiously  repeated ; 
and  I  now  understood  that  she  suspected  me  of  causing,  by 
some  legerdemain,  the  puzzling  concussions.  I  instantly 
clasped  my  hands  over  my  head,  and  there  kept  them  until 
the  sitting  closed,  as  it  did  very  soon.  I  need  hardly  add 
that  this  made  not  the  smallest  difference  with  the  "rap- 
pings  " ;  but  I  was  thoroughly  and  finally  cured  of  any  desire 
to  exhibit  or  commend  them  to  strangers. 

Not  long  afterward,  I  witnessed  what  I  strongly  suspected 
to  be  a  juggle  or  trick  on  the  part  of  a  "  medium,"  which  gave 
me  a  disrelish  for  the  whole  business,  and  I  have  seen  very 
little  of  it  since.  I  never  saw  a  "  spirit  hand,"  though  persons 
in  whose  veracity  I  have  full  confidence  assure  me  that  they 
have  done  so.  (I  do  not  say  that  they  were  or  were  not  de 
luded  or  mistaken.)  But  I  have  sat  with  three  others  around 
a  small  table,  with  every  one  of  our  eight  hands  lying  plainly, 
palpably,  on  that  table,  and  heard  rapid  writing  with  a  pencil 
on  paper,  which,  perfectly  white,  we  had  just  previously 


238  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

placed  under  that  table ;  and  have,  the  next  minute,  picked 
up  that  paper  with  a  sensible,  straightforward  message  of 
twenty  to  fifty  words  fairly  written  thereon.  I  do  not  say  by 
whom,  or  by  what,  said  message  was  written ;  yet  I  am  quite 
confident  that  none  of  the  persons  present,  who  were  visible 
to  mortal  eyes,  wrote  it. 

And  here  let  me  deal  with  the  hypothesis  of  jugglery,  knee- 
joint  rattling,  toe-cracking,  &c.  I  have  no  doubt  that  pre 
tended  "  mediums  "  have  often  amazed  their  visitors  by  feats 
of  jugglery,  —  indeed,  I  am  confident  that  I  have  been  pres 
ent  when  they  did  so.  In  so  far  as  the  hypothesis  of  spirit 
agency  rests  on  the  integrity  of  the  "mediums,"  I  cannot 
deem  it  established.  Most  of  them  are  persons  of  no  especial 
moral  elevation ;  and  I  know  that  more  than  one  of  them  has 
endeavored  to  simulate  "  raps  "  when  the  genuine  could  not  be 
evoked.  Let  us  assume,  then,  that  the  "raps"  prove  just 
nothing  at  all  beyond  the  bare  fact  that  sounds  have  often 
been  produced  by  some  agency  or  impulse  which  we  do  not 
fully  understand,  and  that  all  the  physical  phenomena  have 
been,  or  may  be,  simulated  or  paralleled  by  such  jugglers  as 
Houdin,  Blitz,  the  Fakir  of  Ava,  &c.  But  the  amazing  sleight 
of  hand  of  these  accomplished  performers  is  the  result  of  pro 
tracted,  laborious  training,  by  predecessors  nearly  or  quite  as 
adroit  and  dexterous  as  themselves  ;  while  the  "  mediums  "  are 
often  children  of  tender  years,  who  had  no  such  training,  have 
no  special  dexterity,  and  some  of  whom  are  known  to  be 
awkward  and  clumsy  in  their  movements.  The  jugglery  hy 
pothesis  utterly  fails  to  account  for  occurrences  which  I  have 
personally  witnessed,  to  say  nothing  of  others. 

Nor  can  I  unreservedly  accept  the  hypothesis  which  as 
cribes  the  so-called  "spiritual"  phenomena  to  a  demoniac 
origin.  That  might  account  satisfactorily  for  some  of  them, 
but  not  for  all.  For  instance :  In  the  township  of  Wayne, 
Erie  Co.,  Pa.,  near  the  house  of  my  father  and  brother,  there 
lived,  twelve  or  fifteen  years  ago,  a  farmer  well  known  to  me, 
named  King,  who  had  many  good  traits,  and  one  bad  habit,  — 
that  of  keeping  a  barrel  of  whiskey  in  his  house,  and  dealing 


GLAMOUR.  239 

out  the  villanous  fluid  at  so  much  per  quart  or  pint  to  his 
thirsty  neighbors.  Having  recently  lost  a  beloved  daughter, 
he  had  recourse  to  "  spiritualism,"  (abominable  term  !)  and 
received  many  messages  from  what  purported  to  be  his  lost 
child,  —  one  or  more  of  which  insisted  that  the  aforesaid 
whiskey-barrel  must  be  expelled  from  his  premises,  and  never 
reinstated.  So  said,  so  done,  greatly  to  the  benefit  of  the 
neighborhood.  Now,  I  feel  confident  that  the  Devil  never 
sent  nor  dictated  that  message ;  for,  if  he  did,  his  character 
has  been  grossly  belied,  and  his  biography  ought  to  be  re 
written. 

The  failures  of  the  "  mediums "  were  more  convincing  to 
my  mind  than  their  successes.'  A  juggler  can  do  nearly  as 
well  at  one  time  as  another  ;  but  I  have  known  the  most  emi 
nent  "  mediums  "  spend  a  long  evening  in  trying  to  evoke  the 
"  spiritual  phenomena,"  without  a  gleam  of  success.  I  have 
known  this  to  occur  when  they  were  particularly  anxious  — 
and  for  obviously  good  reasons  —  to  astound  and  convince 
those  who  were  present  and  expectant ;  yet  not  even  the 
faintest  "  rap  "  could  they  scare  up.  Had  they  been  jugglers, 
they  could  not  have  failed  so  utterly,  ignominiously. 

But,  while  the  sterile  "  sittings  "  contributed  quite  as  much 
as  the  other  sort  to  convince  me  that  the  "  rappings "  were 
not  all  imposture  and  fraud,  they  served  decidedly  to  disin 
cline  me  to  devote  my  time  to  what  is  called  "  investigation." 
To  sit  for  two  dreary,  mortal  hours  in  a  darkened  room,  in  a 
mixed  company,  waiting  for  some  one's  disembodied  grand 
father  or  aunt  to  tip  a  table  or  rap  on  a  door,  is  dull  music  at 
best ;  but  so  to  sit  in  vain  is  disgusting. 

I  close  with  a  few  general  deductions  from  all  I  have  seen 
or  known  of  "  spirit-rapping." 

I.  Those  who  discharge  promptly  and  faithfully  all  their 
duties  to  those  who  "  still  live  "  in  the  flesh  can  have  little 
time  for  poking  and  peering  into  the  life  beyond  the  grave. 
Better  attend  to  each  world  in  its  proper  order. 

II.  Those  who  claim,  through  the  "  mediums,"  to  be  Shake 
speare,  Milton,  Byron,  &c.,  and  try  to  prove  it  by  writing 


240  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

poetry,  invariably  come  to  grief.  I  cannot  recall  a  line  of 
"  spiritual "  poetry  that  is  not  weak,  if  not  execrable,  save  that 
of  Eev.  Thomas  L.  Harris,  who  is  a  poet  still  in  the  flesh. 
After  he  dies,  I  predict  that  the  poetry  sent  us  as  his  will  be 
much  worse  than  he  ever  wrote  while  in  the  body.  Even 
Tupper,  appalling  as  is  the  prospect,  will  be  dribbling  worse 
rhymes  upon  us  after  death  than  even  lie  perpetrated  while  on 
earth. 

III.  As  a  general  rule,  the  so-called  "  spiritual  communica 
tions  "  are  vague,  unreal,  shadowy,  trivial.      They  are  not 
what  we  should  expect  our  departed  friends  to  say  to  us.     I 
never  could  feel  that  the  lost  relative  or  friend  who  professed 
to  be  addressing  me  was  actually  present.     I  do  not  doubt 
that  foolish,  trifling  people  remain  so  (measurably)  after  they 
have  passed  the  dark  river ;  I  perceive  that  trivial  questions 
must  necessarily  invite  trivial  answers ;  but,  after  making  all 
due  allowance,  I  insist  that  the  "spiritual"  literature  of  the 
day,  in  so  far  as  it  purports  to  consist  of  communications  or 
revelations  from  the  future  life,  is  more  inane  and  trashy 
than  it  could  be  if  the  sages  and  heroes,  the  saints  and  poets, 
of  by-gone  days  were  really  speaking  to  us  through  these  pre 
tended  revelations. 

IV.  Not  only  is  it  true  (as  we  should  in  any  case  presume) 
that  nearly  all  attempts  of  the  so-called  "  mediums  "  to  guide 
speculators  as  to  events  yet  future  have  proved  melancholy 
failures,  but  it  is  demonstrated  that  the  so-called  "  spirits  " 
are  often  ignorant  of  events  which  have  already  transpired. 
They  did  not  help  fish  up  the  broken  Atlantic  Cable,  nor  find 
Sir  John  Franklin,  nor  dispel  the  mystery  which  still  shrouds 
the  fa£e  of  the  crew  and  passengers  of  the  doomed  steamship 
President, —  and  so  of  a  thousand  instances  wherein  their 
presumed  knowledge  might  have  been  of  use  to  us  darkly 
seeing  mortals.     All  that  we  have  learned  of  them  has  added 
little  or  nothing  to  our  knowledge,  unless  it  be  in  enabling 
us  to  answer  with  more  confidence  that  old,  momentous  ques 
tion,  "  If  a  man  die,  shall  he  live  again  ? " 

V.  On  the  whole  (though  I  say  it  with  regret)  it  seems  to 


GLAMOUR.  241 

me  that  the  great  body  of  the  "  Spiritualists  "  have  not  been 
rendered  better  men  ancl  women  —  better  husbands,  wives, 
parents,  children  —  by  their  new  faith.  I  think  some  have 
been  improved  by  it,  —  while  many  who  were  previously 
good  are  good  still,  —  and  some  have  morally  deteriorated.  I 
judge  that  laxer  notions  respecting  Marriage,  Divorce,  Chas 
tity,  and  stern  Morality  generally,  have  advanced  in  the  wake 
of  "  Spiritualism."  And,  while  I  am  fully  aware  that  religious 
mania  so-called  has  usually  a  purely  material  origin,  so  that 
revivals  have  often  been  charged  with  making  persons  insane 
whose  insanity  took  its  hue  from  the  topic  of  the  hour,  but 
owed  its  existence  to  purely  physical  causes,  I  still  judge  that 
the  aggregate  of  both  Insanity  and  Suicide  has  been  increased 
by  "  Spiritualism." 

VI.  I  do  not  know  that  these  "communications"  made 
through  "  mediums "  proceed  from  those  who  are  said  to  be 
their  authors,  nor  from  the  spirits  of  the  departed  at  all.    Cer 
tain  developments  strongly  indicate  that  they  do  ;  others,  that 
they  do  not.     We  know  that  they  say  they  do,  which  is  evi 
dence  so  far  as  it  goes,  and  is  not  directly  contradicted  or  re 
butted.     That  some  of  them  are  the  result  of  juggle,  collusion, 
or  trick,  I  am  confident ;  that  others  are  not,  I  decidedly  be 
lieve.     The  only  certain  conclusion  in  the  premises  to  which 
my  mind  has  been  led  is  forcibly  set  forth  by  Shakespeare 
in  the  words  of  the  Danish  prince  :  — 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy." 

VII.  I  find  my  "  spiritual "  friends  nowise  less  bigoted,  less 
intolerant,  than  the  devotees  at  other  shrines.     They  do  not 
allow  me  to  see  through  my  own  eyes,  but  insist  that  I  shall 
see  through  theirs.    If  my  conclusion  from  certain  data  differs 
from  theirs,  they  will  not  allow  my  stupidity  to  account  for 
our  difference,  but  insist  on  attributing  it  to  hypocrisy,  or  some 
other  form  of  rascality.     I  cannot  reconcile  this  harsh  judg 
ment  with  their  professions  of  liberality,  their  talk  of  philos 
ophy.     But,  if  I  speak  at  all,  I  must  report  what  I  see  and 
hear. 

16 


XXIX. 

LAKE  SUPERIOR.  — MINING.  — CHICAGO.  — THE  PRAIRIES. 

ABOUT  the  year  1836,  when  the  Territory  of  Michigan  was 
crystallizing  into  a  State,  there  arose  a  dispute  between 
her  and  Ohio  concerning  a  small  but  important  corner,  which 
included  the  then  village  —  now  city  —  of  Toledo.  Military 
—  or  rather  militia  —  demonstrations  were  made  on  both 
sides,  wherein  much  whiskey  was  consumed,  but  no  blood 
shed ;  and  at  length  the  vastly  preponderant  weight  of  Ohio 
in  the  national  councils  prevailed,  and  insured  her  the  peace 
ful  possession  of  the  contested  corner ;  while  Michigan  was 
indifferently  consoled  by  the  preposterous  addition  to  her  natu 
ral  area  of  a  vast,  wild  region  lying  north  and  northwest  of 
Lake  Michigan,  since  known  as  her  "  Upper  Peninsula."  This 
region,  when  it  came  to  be  surveyed  and  mapped  for  settle 
ment,  proved  rich  in  superficial  indications  of  mineral  wealth, 
mainly  Copper  and  Iron ;  and  a  small  crowd  of  adventurers 
rushed  thither  in  quest  of  suddenly  acquired  riches,  in  the 
Summer  or  Fall  of  1844.  The  early  closing  of  navigation  on 
Lake  Superior  and  the  St.  Mary's  Eiver  compelled  a  part  of 
these  to  remain  on  Keewenaw  Point  throughout  the  ensuing 
Winter ;  and,  being  without  advices  from  elsewhere  later  than 
the  preceding  August  or  September,  the  Whig  portion  of  this 
crowd  celebrated,  on  the  4th  of  March,  1845,  Mr.  Clay's  pre 
sumed  inauguration  as  President,  —  an  inauguration  which, 
unhappily,  failed  to  come  off,  as  they  sanguinely  believed  it 
would  do,  —  nay,  did,  —  because  it  should  have  done.  When 
Spring  opened,  several  of  them  came  down,  bringing  won 
drous  accounts  of  the  riches  of  the  Superior  region  in  copper 


LAKE  SUPERIOR.  — MINING.  243 

and  silver,  if  not  also  in  gold,  and  organized  in  our  city  several 
companies  for  the  development  of  the  wealth  thus  laid  open 
to  human  appropriation.  An  old  backwoodsman,  named 
Bailey,  who  had  heard  my  name,  —  possibly,  read  my  paper, 
—  had  set  apart  for  me  some  stock  in  a  projected  company, 
to  be  located  on  a  copper- vein  or  outcrop  of  his  discovery ; 
requesting  me  to  act  in  his  behalf  as  a  trustee  or  director  of 
said  company ;  to  which  I,  in  my  yet  complete  ignorance  of 
mining,  acceded.  For  some  three  years  thereafter,  I  acted 
accordingly;  coaxing  several  assessments  from  unwilling  stock 
holders  £who,  in  their  primeval  innocence,  had  expected  to 
receive  dividends  from  their  stock  instead  of  paying  assess 
ments  thereon),  and  applying  the  proceeds,  as  well  as  I  could, 
to  the  opening  of  our  mine.  At  length,  in  the  Spring  of  1847, 
I  made  a  business  visit  to  our  property,  —  taking  along  the 
gold  required  to  pay  off  our  workmen,  and  buying  at  Detroit 
a  yoke  of  oxen,  a  supply  of  hay  and  grain,  a  good  stock  of 
provisions,  &c.,  &c.,  and  taking  them  with  me  to  their  and  my 
destination. 

I  had  never  before  been  farther  in  that  direction  than  De 
troit  ;  and  this  journey  considerably  enlarged  my  acquaint 
ance  with  the  northwest.  Lake  Huron  was  shrouded  in  fog 
and  mist,  and  our  steamboat  traversed  its  entire  length  slowly 
and  cautiously;  thence  feeling  our  way  up  the  St.  Mary's 
only  by  daylight,  —  the  channel  being  too  shallow,  rocky,  and 
intricate  for  navigation  by  night.  At  the  Sault  Ste.  Marie 
we  found  a  small  but  smart  young  village,  to  whose  assem 
bled  inhabitants  two  of  us  made  temperance  addresses,  which 
I  think  some  of  them  needed ;  and,  when  our  goods  had  been 
wagoned  across  the  portage,  we  took  the  only  old  propeller 
which  had,  as  yet,  been  got  across  and  launched  on  Lake 
Superior,  and  started  up  the  lake :  but  it  soon  came  on  to 
blow  a  fair,  fresh  breeze,  which  was  too  much  for  our  rickety 
craft ;  and  her  captain  (very  properly)  ran  her  behind  Point 
Keewenaw,  and  lay  there  some  thirty  hours,  while  we  pas 
sengers  traversed  the  coast  for  a  mile  or  so,  picking  agates 
and  other  fancied,  curious  bits  of  fragmentary  rock  from  the 


244  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

enormous  quantity  of  pebbles  which  filled,  almost  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  sand,  the  narrow  strip  of  debatable  ground  between 
land  and  water.  Next  day  — the  wind  having  lulled  —  we 
rounded  the  Point,  and  ran  down  its  longer  (northwest)  coast 
to  Eagle  Harbor ;  where,  in  default  of  piers,  my  oxen  had  to 
be  pushed  off  the  steamboat  into  the  ice-cold  water,  and  com 
pelled  to  swim  ashore ;  my  goods  being  taken  off  in  a  small 
boat.  That  was  the  15th  of  June  ;  and  the  shallow  water  of 
the  harbor  was  frozen  over  next  morning  for  some  distance 
from  shore.  There  were  possibly  two  hundred  acres  in  all 
then  cleared  of  timber  on  Keewenaw  Point,  a  dozen  of  them 
adjoining  this  harbor,  which,  but  for  that  clearing  and  the 
two  taverns  located  thereon,  remained  very  much  as  when 
Indians  alone  possessed  or  approached  it.  During  the  bright, 
warm  day  that  followed  that  night's  hard  frost  I  made  my 
way  through  the  dense  woods,  unbroken  save  by  our  rough 
road,  to  our  location,  some  six  miles  east  of  the  harbor,  and 
six  hundred  feet  above  it,  where  I  paid  off  our  men,  and  next 
day  made,  with  others,  an  excursion  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  to 
the  Bohemian  and  other  kindred  locations  across  the  Point  on 
Bay  de  Gris,  and  back  again  to  our  place  in  the  afternoon,  — 
a  pedestrian  journey  of  hardly  more  than  twenty  miles  in  all ; 
yet  across  such  a  succession  of  brooks,  bogs,  and  other  impedi 
ments,  that  I  —  unused  these  sixteen  years  to  walking  more 
than  an  hour  per  day  —  was  utterly  fagged  out,  and  fell  my 
full  length  repeatedly  in  the  course  of  the  last  two  miles. 
Thence  I  visited,  in  the  course  of  the  next  three  or  four  days, 
the  locations  farther  down  the  point,  then  known  as  Copper 
Falls,  Pittsburg  and  Boston  (Cliff),  National,  Forsyth,  &c., 
encountering  —  especially  around  Sand  Bay  —  denser  and 
more  ferocious  clouds  of  mosquitoes  and  gnats  than  ever  before 
or  since  presented  me  their  bills,  and  insisted  on  immediate 
satisfaction.  I  remember  an  instance  in  which  several  of  us 
fled  half  a  mile  from  their  haunts  to  a  hut,  which  we  filled 
with  a  thick  and  pungent  smoke,  with  very  little  abatement 
of  their  numbers  or  their  appetite. 

The  Point  was  not,  in  those  days,  calculated  to  attract  a 


LAKE  SUPERIOR.  —  MINING.  245 

Sybarite,  nor  even  a  gourmand ;  yet  its  white-fish  and  lake 
trout  relieved  admirably  the  more  usual  and  quite  substantial 
fare  of  pork,  bread,  beans,  and  potatoes  ;  there  were  speckled 
trout  in  its  multitudinous  brooks  for  those  who  had  time  to 
catch  them ;  while  the  prevailing  forest  of  yellow  pine,  maple, 
beach,  &c.,  covered  a  soil  generally  well  adapted  to  potatoes, 
turnips,  grass,  &c.,  though  not  to  the  grains  most  acceptable 
for  human  food.  Winter  wheat  or  rye  was  generally  smoth 
ered  by  the  snows,  which  began  to  fall  early  in  November,  and 
kept  coming  till  the  aggregate  fall  often  exceeded  thirty 
feet,  —  the  whole  being  settled  meantime  to  a  medium  depth 
of  six  to  seven  feet.  Sometimes,  they  said,  a  chopper,  who 
fell  from  the  trunk  he  was  cutting  in  two,  seemed  in  danger 
of  disappearing,  and  being  smothered  in  earth's  fleecy  vesture. 
Indian  corn  could  rarely  be  matured :  the  nights,  even  in 
midsummer,  being  so  sharp  that  seldom  did  a  mosquito  ven 
ture  to  pursue  his  human  (or  other)  prey  much  after  sunset. 
No  copper  of  any  account  had  yet  been  obtained  from  any 
but  the  Pittsburg  or  Cliff  mine,  nor  was  any  of  consequence 
shipped  from  the  Point,  save  as  aforesaid,  while  I  was  inter 
ested  there.  Shareholders,  who  had  raised  their  $  10,000  to 
$  50,000  in  fond  expectation  of  early  returns,  found  in  time 
that  every  cent,  and  generally  more,  had  been  expended  in 
constructing  a  rude  pier  whereon  to  land  their  supplies, 
cutting  a  road  thence  to  their  location,  building  a  few  rude 
shanties,  drawing  up  their  tools,  powder,  edibles,  &c.,  and 
beginning  to  scratch  the  earth;  another,  and  still  another 
assessment  being  required,  —  not  to  secure  returns,  but  to  sink 
a  shaft  on  the  vein  far  enough  to  determine  that  they  had  any 
ore  or  metal  to  mine.  By  this  time,  their  patience,  or  their 
faith,  or  their  means,  had  generally  failed,  and  they  were  ready 
to  sell  out  for  a  song,  or  abandon  the  enterprise  in  despair 
and  disgust.  Such  is,  in  essence,  the  history  of  most  mining 
enterprises  on  Lake  Superior ;  and  I  suspect  it  is  not  essen 
tially  different  elsewhere.  I  presume  there  were  not  in  1859 
so  many  deserted  habitations  throughout  all  the  rest  of  our 
country  as  in  California  and  the  adjacent  mining  districts ;  and 


246  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

some  of  these  were  quite  decent  houses.  All  I  ever  realized 
by  mining  was  a  conviction  that  digging  Gold,  or  Silver,  or 
Copper,  or  Iron,  or  —  best  of  all  —  Coal,  is  a  fair  business  for 
those  who  bring  to  and  invest  in  it  the  requisite  capacity, 
knowledge,  capital,  experience,  perseverance,  and  good  luck, 
and  that  the  rarely  encountered  "  big  strikes  "  are  as  one  to  a 
million.  As  a  rule,  there  are  many  easier  ways  of  gaining 
gold  than  digging  it  from  the  earth ;  yet  let  all  dig  who  will. 
The  possibility  of  large  and  sudden  gains  gives  to  the  business 
that  element  of  chance  or  gaming  which  so  fascinates  the 
average  mind ;  yet,  if  all  the  gold-diggers  on  earth  were  to 
work  faithfully  throughout  next  year,  and  exchange  their 
products  respectively  for  wheat,  I  doubt  that  their  recompense 
would  average  a  peck  each  per  day.  And  what  is  true  of  gold 
is  nearly  or  quite  so  of  copper,  and  of  most  other  minerals  as 
well. 

I  may  here  say  that  I  made  another  journey  to  Lake  Supe 
rior  on  the  same  errand  the  next  year  (1848),  but  considerably 
later  in  the  season,  or  at  the  close  of  August,  when  encourag 
ing  progress  had  been  made  since  my  previous  visit.  I  now 
tested  an  assertion  which  I  had  repeatedly  heard,  but  never 
believed,  —  that,  except  in  certain  shallow  bays,  and  even 
there  only  after  a  succession  of  hot,  still  days,  —  the  water  of 
that  lake  is  too  cold  to  bathe  in.  Going  alone  to  the  headland 
west  of  Eagle  Harbor,  on  a  bright  Summer  noon,  when  a  fresh 
northern  breeze  was  rolling  in  a  very  fair  surf,  I  stripped  and 
plunged  in ;  but  was  driven  out  as  by  a  legion  of  infuriated 
hornets.  The  water  was  too  cold  to  be  endured ;  and  I  never 
thereafter  doubted  the  current  assertion,  that  a  hot  day  was 
never  known  on  that  Lake  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  more 
from  land. 

On  this  second  visit,  I  waited  and  watched  a  day  at  the 
mouth  of  Eagle  River,  while  our  propeller  made  a  gallant  fight 
for  dear  life  against  a  very  moderate  gale.  She  had  failed  to 
get  in ;  if,  indeed,  it  were  safe  to  do  so,  —  did  not  dare  to  go 
out  boldly,  if  she  could,  —  but,  with  both  anchors  down  and 
full  steam  up,  lay  head  to  the  wind,  and  did  her  best  to  hold 


CHICAGO.  —  THE  PRAIRIES.  247 

her  ground  and  resist  being  drifted  on  the  rugged  rocks  at 
length  barely  two  or  three  hundred  yards  astern.  She  dragged 
her  anchors  steadily,  in  spite  of  her  best  efforts,  but  slowly ; 
so  that  we,  expectant  passengers  ashore,  took  observations  on 
her  from  hour  to  hour,  and  predicted  that  she  would  or  would 
not  ride  out  the  gale.  She  did  it  handsomely,  however ;  and, 
the  next  morning,  her  boat  took  us  off,  shipping  a  sea  midway 
back  to  her  that  thoroughly  drenched  and  nearly  swamped  us. 
Once  on  board,  she  weighed  anchor  and  put  out ;  and,  in  a 
few  hours,  I  had  looked  my  last  (as  yet)  on  the  bold  shores 
of  the  Father  of  Lakes,  which  stand  forth  green  and  fair  in 
my  memory  evermore. 

My  earlier  trip  to  the  upper  Lakes  was  concluded  by  a 
visit,  per  steamboat,  ma  Mackinac,  Sheboygan,  and  Milwaukee, 
to  Chicago,  then  a  smart  and  growing  village,  where  some 
thousands  of  us  gathered  from  the  East  and  from  the  West 
in  a  grand  Eiver  and  Harbor  Convention,  which  was  organized 
on  the  4th  of  July,  1847.  Edward  Bates,  of  St.  Louis,  —  who 
had  been  in  Congress  twenty  years  before,  and  is  still  living, 
more  than  twenty  years  afterward,  —  was  President  of  that 
Convention,  and  made  from  the  chair  a  magnificent  speech 
on  our  country's  progress,  genius,  and  destiny.  Other  able 
and  good  men  were  there,  and  many  good  speeches  were  made ; 
but  Mr.  Bates's  alone  commanded  general  admiration.  I  pre 
sume  that  the  cause  of  Internal  Improvement,  with  the  sub 
sequent  growth  of  Chicago,  received  a  considerable  impetus 
from  that  Convention. 

When  it  had  closed  its  deliberations,  Mr.  John  Y.  Scammon, 
then  a  rising  young  lawyer,  since  an  eminent  banker  of  Chi 
cago,  took  his  carriage  and  pair,  and  drove  with  me  for  three 
days  over  the  prairies  west  of  that  city ;  crossing  Fox  Eiver, 
at  Geneva,  proceeding  to  what  is  now  Sycamore,  and  returning 
by  Elgin  to  the  City  of  the  Lakes.  I  had,  eight  years  earlier, 
traversed  eastern  Michigan,  and  there  made  the  acquaintance 
of  what  were  called  "  wet  prairies,"  by  which  I  had  not  been 
fascinated.  But  the  prairies  of  Illinois  are  of  another  order  ; 
and,  though  by  no  means  that  dead,  unbroken  level  which 


248  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

many  suppose  them,  but  cut  up  by  brook-beds,  sloughs,  and 
roads,  which  were  merely  wagon-tracks  in  a  deep,  black  soil, 
wore  a  generally  delightful  aspect.  Forests  were  less  frequent 
than  seemed  desirable;  but  "openings,"  or  scattered  trees, 
were  never  out  of  sight ;  and  the  small  and  scanty  settlements 
were  usually  surrounded  by  promising  fields  of  wheat  and 
Indian  corn.  I  presume  we  did  not  see  one  human  habitation 
where  a  traveller  over  our  route  would  now  see  fifty ;  while 
the  average  value  or  cost  of  the  rude  cabins  we  passed  would 
hardly  exceed  $  200,  where  that  of  the  present  houses  would 
reach  at  least  $  2,000.  Teamsters  conveying  grain  to  Chicago, 
or  returning  with  lumber,  we  frequently  met ;  yet  inns  were 
decidedly  scarce;  since  few  teamsters  could  afford  to  pay 
money  for  food  or  shelter,  while  the  great  mass  stopped  for  rest 
or  meals  under  almost  any  tree,  turned  out  their  horses  to 
graze,  or  fed  them  from  their  wagons,  while  they  ate  of  the 
substantial,  wholesome  food  they  had  brought  from  home.  I 
was  told  that  a  load  of  wheat  taken  sixty  miles  to  Chicago  in 
those  days  just  about  paid  for  a  return  load  of  fence-boards, 
leaving  the  farmer  who  made  the  exchange  little  or  nothing 
wherewith  to  pay  tavern-bills.  Few  of  the  early  pioneers  of 
Illinois  took  thither  more  than  a  fair  wagon-load  of  worldly 
gear  and  $100  in  money;  many  lacked  £he  SI 00,  and  had 
but  half  a  load  of  household  stuff  in  the  wagon,  the  other 
half  being  composed  of  wife  and  children ;  yet  all  found  some 
how  enough  to  eat,  and  did  not  suffer  intolerably  from  cold : 
and  now  those  children  enjoy  comforts  and  may  revel  in  lux 
uries  which  their  parents  scarcely  aspired  to.  Do  they  realize 
and  fitly  honor  the  self-forgetting  courage  and  devotion  to 
which  they  are  so  deeply  indebted  ? 


Milwaukee  was  then  a  smart  but  struggling  country  village, 
consisting  of  some  three  to  four  hundred  new  houses  clus 
tered  about  a  steamboat-landing  at  the  mouth  of  a  shallow, 
crooked  creek.  Wisconsin  had  then  less  than  One  Hundred 
Thousand  inhabitants,  which  the  twenty  subsequent  years 


.     CHICAGO.— 'THE  PRAIRIES.  249 

have  increased  to  nearly  or  quite  One  Million.  Sheboygan 
was  then  relatively  of  far  greater  consequence  and  promise 
than  now;  but,  going  back  thence  a  dozen  miles  inland  to 
visit  my  father's  brother,  Leonard,  I  was  traversing  the  wil 
derness  within  two  miles  from  the  steamboat-landing,  and  I 
travelled  under  the  shade  of  the  primitive  forest  through  most 
of  the  succeeding  ten  miles.  But  the  soil  was  generally  good, 
and  the  timber  excellent,  being  largely  composed  of  Hickory, 
Elm,  and  other  valuable  trees ;  while  the  clearings,  though 
new  and  small,  were  full  of  promise,  not  only  in  their  thick 
set,  velvet  grass,  and  their  springing  grain,  but  in  their  wealth 
of  rugged,  active,  coarsely  clad,  but  intelligent,  vigorous  chil 
dren.  Wisconsin  has  scarcely  been  surpassed  by  any  State 
in  her  subsequent  growth  in  population,  production,  and 
wealth ;  and  I  predict  that  the  close  of  this  century  will  see 
her  the  home  of  Three  Millions  of  people  as  energetic,  indus 
trious,  worthy,  and  happy,  as  any  on  earth. 

At  that  time,  no  mile  of  railroad  terminated  in  Chicago, 
and  barely  one  line  (the  Michigan  Central)  pointed  directly 
at  that  young  city.  Even  this  one  proposed  to  stop  at  New 
Buffalo  (mouth  of  St.  Joseph's  Eiver),  its  passengers  reaching 
thence  its  present  proper  terminus  by  steamboat  in  Summer, 
and  by  stage-coach  in  Winter.  Of  course,  they  soon  saw 
reason  to  change  their  plans ;  and  New  Buffalo,  deserted, 
became  one  of  our  many  American  victims  of  blighted  hopes. 
Yet,  after  years  of  desolation,  her  denizens  have  discovered 
that  their  district  is  admirably  adapted  to  peach-culture ;  the 
cold,  northwest  winds  of  later  Autumn  and  Winter  reaching 
them  softened  by  passing  over  the  adjacent  lake,  and  so  leav 
ing  her  fruit-buds  unblighted  by  their  shrivelling  breath. 
Landing  here  from  Chicago,  I  took  stage  to  Kalamazoo,  or 
thereabout,  where  we  met  a  just-completed  section  of  the 
Michigan  Central,  on  which  I  was  brought  to  Detroit,  and 
thence  came  homeward  by  steamboat  to  Buffalo,  railroad  to 
Albany,  and  steamboat  to  this  city. 


XXX. 

THE  GREAT  SENATORS.  —  THE  COMPROMISE  OF  1850. 

OUK  great  triumvirate  —  Clay,  Webster,  Calhoun  —  kst 
appeared  together  in  public  life  in  the  Senate  of 
1849  -  50 :  the  two  former  figuring  conspicuously  in  the  de 
bates  which  preluded  and  resulted  in  what  was  termed  the 
Compromise  of  that  year,  —  Mr.  Calhoun  dying  as  they  had 
fairly  opened,  and  Messrs.  Clay  and  Webster  not  long  after 
their  close.  This  chapter  is,  therefore,  in  some  sort,  my  hum 
ble  tribute  to  their  genius  and  their  just  renown. 

I  best  knew  and  loved  Henry  Clay:  he  was  by  nature 
genial,  cordial,  courteous,  gracious,  magnetic,  winning.  When 
General  Glascock,  of  Georgia,  took  his  seat  in  Congress  as  a 
Bepresentative,  a  mutual  friend  asked,  "  General,  may  I  intro 
duce  you  to  Henry  Clay  ? "  "  No,  sir ! "  was  the  stern  re 
sponse  ;  "  I  am  his  adversary,  and  choose  not  to  subject  my 
self  to  his  fascination."  I  think  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
constitute  for  three  or  four  years  a  legislative  body  whereof 
Mr.  Clay  was  a  member,  and  not  more  than  four  sevenths 
were  his  pledged,  implacable  opponents,  whereof  he  would 
not  have  been  the  master-spirit,  and  the  author  and  inspirer 
of  most  of  its  measures,  after  the  first  or  second  year. 
(~*  Mr.  Webster  was  colder,  graver,  sterner,  in  his  general  bear 
ing  ;  though  he  could  unbend  and  be  sunny  and  blithe  in  his 
intercourse  with  those  admitted  to  his  intimacy.  There  were 
few  gayer  or  more  valued  associates  on  a  fishing  or  sailing 
party.  His  mental  calibre  was  much  the  larger;  I  judge 
that  he  had  read  and  studied  more ;  though  neither  could  boast 
much  erudition,  nor  even  intense  application.  I  believe  each 


THE   GREAT  SENATORS.  251 

was  about  thirty  years  in  Congress,  where  Mr.  Clay  identified 
his  name  with  the  origin  or  success  of  at  least  half  a  dozen 
important  measures  to  every  one  thus  blended  with  Mr.  Web 
ster's.  Though  Webster's  was  far  the  more  massive  intellect, 
Mr.  Clay  as  a  legislator  evinced  far  the  greater  creative,  con 
structive  power.  I  once  sat  in  the  Senate  Chamber  when 
Mr.  Douglas,  who  had  just  been  transferred  from  the  House, 
rose,  to  move  forward  a  bill  in  which  he  was  interested. 
"  We  have  no  such  practice  in  the  Senate,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Web 
ster,  in  his  deep,  solemn  voice,  fixing  his  eye  on  the  mover, 
but  without  rising  from  his  seat.  Mr.  Douglas  at  once  varied 
his  motion,  seeking  to  achieve  his  end  in  a  somewhat  different 
way.  "  That  is  not  the  way  we  do  business  in  the  Senate, 
sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Webster,  still  more  decisively  and  sternly. 
"  The  Little  Giant "  was  a  bold,  ready  man,  not  easily  over 
awed  or  disconcerted ;  but,  if  he  did  not  quiver  under  the  eye 
and  voice  of  Webster,  then  my  eyesight  deceived  me, —  and  I 
was  very  near  him. 

Mr.  Calhoun  was  a  tall,  spare,  earnest,  evidently  thoughtful 
man,  with  stiff,  iron-gray  hair,  which  reminded  you  of  Jack 
son's  about  the  time  of  his  accession  to  the  Presidency.  He 
was  eminently  a  logician,  —  terse,  vigorous,  relentless.  He 
courted  the  society  of  clever,  aspiring  young  men  who  inclined 
to  fall  into  his  views,  and  exerted  great  influence  over  them. 
As  he  had  abandoned  the  political  faith  which  I  distinguish 
and  cherish  as  National  while  I  was  yet  a  school-boy,  I 
never  met  him  at  all  intimately ;  yet  once,  while  I  was  con 
nected  with  mining  on  Lake  Superior,  I  called  on  him,  as  on 
other  leading  members  of  Congress,  to  explain  the  effect  of 
the  absurd  policy  then  in  vogue,  of  keeping  mineral  lands  out 
of  market,  and  attempting  to  collect  a  percentage  of  the 
mineral  as  rent  accruing  to  the  Government.  He  received 
me  courteously,  and  I  took  care  to  make  my  statement  as 
compact  and  perspicuous  as  I  could,  showing  him  that,  even 
in  the  Lead  region,  where  the  system  had  attained  its  full 
development,  the  Treasury  did  not  receive  enough  rent  to 
pay  the  salaries  of  the  officers  employed  in  collecting  it. 


252  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

"  Enough,"  said  Mr.  Calhoun ;  "  you  are  clearly  right.  I  will 
vote  to  give  away  these  lands,  rather  than  perpetuate  this 
vicious  system."  "We  only  ask,  Mr.  Calhoun,"  I  rejoined, 
"  that  Congress  fix  on  the  lands  whatever  price  it  may  deem 
just,  and  sell  them  at  that  price  to  those  lawfully  in  posses 
sion  ;  they  failing  to  purchase,  then  to  whomsoever  will  buy 
them."  "That  plan  will  have  my  hearty  support,"  he  re 
sponded  ;  and  it  did.  When  the  question  came  at  length  to 
be  taken,  I  believe  there  was  no  vote  in  either  House  against 
selling  the  mineral  lands. 


Mr.  Clay  had  failed  to  be  chosen  President  in  1844,  in  part 
because  he  tried  to  reconcile  to  his  support  those  whose  views 
on  the  Texas  question  conflicted  with  his.  General  Taylor, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  succeeded  in  1848,  while  saying  very 
little  as  to  the  pending  questions  affecting  Slavery,  or  even 
seeming  to  care  that  adverse  opinions  should  be  conciliated. 
There  was  an  anecdote  current  in  the  canvass  to  this  effect : 
A  planter  wrote  Old  Zack,  saying,  "I  have  worked  hard  all 
my  life,  and  the  net  product  is  a  plantation  with  one  hundred 
negroes,  —  slaves.  Before  I  vote,  I  want  to  know  how  you 
stand  on  the  Slavery  question."  "  The  General  at  once  re 
sponded  :  "  Sir,  I  too  have  worked  faithfully  these  many  years, 
and  the  net  product  remaining  to  me  is  a  plantation  with  three 
hundred  negroes.  Yours  truly."  The  planter  was  satisfied. 

The  National  Convention  which  nominated  General  Taylor 
had  laid  on  the  table  a  resolve  approving,  if  not  demanding, 
the  exclusion  of  Slavery  from  the  Territories ;  and  this  prob 
ably  lost  us  the  votes  of  Ohio,  Illinois,  Wisconsin,  and  Iowa. 
On  the  other  hand,  Alabama,  Mississippi  and  Arkansas  all 
voted,  by  small  majorities,  for  Cass  :  Jefferson  Davis,  though 
a  son-in-law  of  General  Taylor,  declining,  on  political  or 
Slavery  grounds,  to  support  him.  Had  he  been  clearly  under 
stood  to  be  for  or  against  the  so-called  Wilmot  Proviso,  lie 
would  have  both  gained  and  lost  votes  ;  but  I  judge  that, 
with  reference  to  success,  his  silence  was  wisdom. 


THE   GREAT  SENATORS.  253 

Being  elected  and  inaugurated,  lie  called  to  his  cabinet 
Messrs.  Clayton  of  Delaware,  Crittenden  of  Kentucky,  Ewing 
of  Ohio,  Meredith  of  Pennsylvania,  G.  W.  Crawford  of  Geor 
gia,  Ballard  Preston  of  Virginia,  Collamer  of  Vermont,  and 
Pteverdy  Johnson  of  Maryland,  and  proceeded  to  deal  cau 
tiously  with  the  grave  questions  impending.  It  was  soon 
evident  to  keen-sighted  observers,  that  the  new  Administration 
aimed  to  tide  over  the  breakers  just  ahead  by  securing  the 
newly  acquired  Territories  practically  to  free  labor,  through 
a  quiet  discouragement  of  the  transfer  of  slaves  thereto,  and 
the  speedy  transformation  of  each  Territory  into  a  State., 
Dissension  and  division  on  the  Wilmot  Proviso  were  thus  to 
be  avoided  by  achieving  expeditiously  the  end  whereto  that 
Proviso  was  but  a  means.  Thus,  California  was  rapidly  meta 
morphosed  into  a  free  State  even  before  she  had  been  pro 
vided  with  a  regular  Territorial  organization ;  while  yet  the 
Administration  could  fairly  protest  with  Macbeth,  — 

.    "  Thou  canst  not  say  /  did  it !     Never  shake 
Those  gory  locks  at  me  !  " 

The  pro-Slavery  interest  soon  felt  that  it  was  being  under 
mined  and  circumvented.  In  the  elections  for  Congress,  next 
after  General  Taylor's  inauguration,  the  South,  which  had 
given  him  both  a  popular  and  an  electoral  majority,  chose 
but  twenty-nine  Eepresentatives  to  support,  with  sixty-two 
to  oppose,  his  Administration. 

At  the  North,  the  new  Administration  was  likewise  dis 
trusted  by  the  more  zealous  champions  of  Free  Soil,  though 
with  less  reason.  In  the  election  of  1849,  the  Democrats  of 
Vermont  united  with  the  Abolitionists  in  framing  and  sup 
porting  a  common  State  ticket,  on  an  unequivocally  Free-Soil 
platform,  with  the  watchword,  "  Free  Democracy " ;  and,  as 
the  coalescing  parties  had  outnumbered  the  Whigs  in  the 
preceding  vote  for  President,  the  prospect  looked  squally.  I 
was  invited  by  the  Whigs  to  canvass  their  State,  and  did  so ; 
beginning  at  Brattleborough  in  the  southeast,  passing  up  to 
Montpelier  and  across  to  Burlington,  thence  down  by  Rutland 
to  Bennington.  One  anecdote  of  this  trip  is  characteristic  of 
the  times,  and  will  bear  reviving : 


254  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

As,  when  previously  asked  by  friends  in  the  State  what 
they  should  do  for  me,  I  had  stipulated  for  a  committee  of 
thirteen  to  let  me  alone,  and  persuade  others  to  do  so,  I  en 
joyed  unusual  exemption  from  bother,  and,  after  speaking  one 
rainy  afternoon  at  some  town  in  Orange  County  (Royalton,  as 
I  recollect),  I  took  the  cars,  and  was  soon  borne  to  Montpelier, 
where  I  was  to  speak  the  next  day.     The  rain  poured  heavily, 
and  I  made  my  way  solus  from  the  railway  station  to  a  hotel, 
where  I  obtained  a  room,  and  sat  down  in  it  to  my  solitary 
reflections.      I   must   here  explain  that  two  brothers,  Ver- 
monters,  named  respectively  Charles  G.  and  E.  G.  Eastman, 
then  edited  the  Democratic  State  organs  at  Montpelier  and 
at  Nashville  respectively.     The  Vermont  Eastman,  being  in 
league  with  the  Abolitionists,  labored  day  by  day  to  prove 
that  the  Taylor  Administration  was  managing  to  secure  the 
new  Territories  to  Slavery;  while  the  Tennessee  Eastman, 
seeking  capital  for  his  party  011  the  other  tack,  as  strenuously 
insisted  that  that  same  Administration  was  doing,  its  utmost 
to  exclude  Slavery  from  those  same  Territories.     As  The  Tri 
bune  exchanged  with  both  these  candid  journalists,  I  had 
recently  taken  a  leading  article  from  each,  cut  it  into  para 
graphs,  copied  first  from  one  charging  the  Administration  as 
aforesaid,  and  then,  simply  premising,  "Now  we  will  hear 
what  t'other  Eastman  has  to  say  on  this  point,"  I  would 
quote  the  exact  opposite  from  the  Tennessee  or  the  Vermont 
brother,  as  the  case  might  be.     So,  having  seated  myself  in 
my  room   in   the   hotel  at   Montpelier,  which  I  had  never 
before  been  near,  and  where  I  knew  no  one,  I  looked  drear 
ily  out  at  the  furious  rain  for  half  an  hour,  and  was  about 
falling  asleep  in  utter  desperation,  when  my  door  opened, 
and   a   tall,   sturdy   mountaineer,   unannounced,  walked   in. 
"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Greeley,"  was  his  cordial  salutation. 
"  Good  afternoon,"  I  less  cordially  responded ;  "  though  I  do 
not  happen  to  know  you."     "  Not  know  me  ? "  he  incredu 
lously  asked  :  "  why,  I  am  t'  other  Eastman." 


When  Congress  met  in  December  following,  and  HoweH 


THE  COMPROMISE  OF  1850.  255 

Cobb,  [Dem.]  of  Georgia,  had,  after  a  long  struggle,  "been 
chosen  Speaker,*  because  the  distinctively  Free-Soil  members 
would  not  support  Winthrop,  the  "Whig  candidate,  General 
Taylor,  in  his  Annual  Message  (already  published  during  the 
long  struggle  for  Speaker),  avowed  that  he  desired  and  ex 
pected  the  early  admission  of  both  California  and  New  Mex 
ico  as  States,  under  such  constitutions  as  their  people  should 
see  fit  to  frame,  —  which  constitutions,  it  was  already  notori 
ous,  would  forbid  Slavery. 

Mr.  Clay  soon  submitted!  to  the  Senate  his  plan  for  a  com 
prehensive  settlement  of  all  the  mooted  questions  regarding 
Slavery.  It  contemplated :  1.  The  prompt  admission  of  Cali 
fornia  as  a  State,  under  her  anti-Slavery  Constitution ;  2. 
The  organization  of  the  remaining  Territories,  without  al 
lusion  to  Slavery ;  3.  The  limitation  of  Texas  to  a  denned 
Northern  boundary,  ignoring  —  or  rather  buying  off — her 
claim  to  nearly  all  New  Mexico ;  4.  Paying  her  a  sum  (after 
ward  fixed  at  $  10,000,000)  for  consenting  to  the  limitation 
aforesaid ;  5.  No  abolition  of  Slavery  in  the  District  of  Co 
lumbia  ;  6.  Exclusion  by  law  of  the  traffic  in  slaves  from  said 
District ;  7.  A  denial  of  the  right  of  any  State  to  obstruct  or 
embarrass  the  traffic  in  slaves  between  other  States,  or  their 
removal  from  one  to  another.  As  the  second  of  these  propo 
sitions  has  an  abiding  significance,  in  view  of  the  Nebraska 
bill  afterward  avowedly  based  thereon,  I  quote  it  verbatim :  — 

"  2.  Resolved,  That  as  Slavery  does  not  exist  by  law  [in,]  and  is 
not  likely  to  be  introduced  into,  any  of  the  territories  acquired  by 
the  United  States  from  the  republic  of  Mexico,  it  is  inexpedient 
for  Congress  to  provide  by  law  either  for  its  introduction  into,  or 
[its]  exclusion  from,  any  part  of  the  said  territory,  and  that  appro 
priate  territorial  governments  ought  to  be  established  by  Congress 
in  all  the  said  territories  not  assigned  as  within  the  boundaries  of 
the  proposed  State  of  California,  without  the  adoption  of  any  re 
striction  or  condition  on  the  subject  of  Slavery." 

*  Under  the  plurality  rule :  Cobb,  102 ;  Winthrop,  99  ;  scattering  (mainly 
Free-Soil),  20. 

t  February  13,  1850. 


256  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

The  gist  of  this  proposition,  as  I  apprehend  it,  is,  that 
Slavery  had  not  then  a  legal  existence  in  the  newly  acquired 
I  Territories.  In  other  words  :  Mr.  Clay  (in  opposition  to  Mr. 
Calhoun  and  his  followers,  who  maintained  that  the  Federal 
Constitution  necessarily  became  the  fundamental  law  of  any 
region  acquired  by  the  United  States,  and  thus  legalized  Slav 
ery  in  that  region,  and  every  part  of  it,)  held,  with  the  Free- 
Soil  party,  that  Slavery  must  be  established  by  positive  law 
in  any  Territory,  before  it  could  be  legal  therein.  I  felt  that 
we  could  afford  to  accept  this  as  a  basis  of  adjustment,  espe 
cially  when  we  gained  therewith  the  instant  admission  of 
California  as  a  Free  State,  and  the  extrusion  of  slaveholding 
Texas  from  nearly  all  New  Mexico,  whereof  she  claimed  every 
acre  lying  eastward  of  the  Eio  Grande  del  Norte.  Mr.  Clay's 
proffer  seemed  to  me  candid  and  fair  to  the  North,  so  far  as 
it  related  to  the  newly  acquired  territories.  I  do  personally 
know  that  Mr.  Clay  himself  regarded  it  as  a  capitulation  on 
the  part  of  the  South,  wherein  she  merely  stipulated  for  the 
honors  of  war.  And  it  was  instantly  assailed  by  Senators  Jef 
ferson  Davis  and  Henry  S.  Foote  of  Mississippi,  James  M. 
Mason  of  Virginia,  William  E.  King  of  Alabama,  S.  U. 
Downs  of  Louisiana,  and  A.  P.  Butler  of  South  Carolina,  as 
proposing  to  the  South  a  surrender  at  discretion.  They  all 
repelled  the  suggestion  that  Slavery  could  not  legally  exist  in 
a  Territory  till  expressly  established  there  by  law,  affirming 
the  opposite  or  Calhoun  doctrine.  Mr.  Clay  met  them  frankly 
and  squarely ;  replying  to  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  as  follows  :  - 

"  I  am  extremely  sorry  to  hear  the  Senator  from  Mississippi  say 

that  he  requires,  first,  the  extension  of  the  Missouri  Compromise 

line  to  the  Pacific  ;  and,  also,  that  he  is  not  satisfied  with  that, 

but  requires,  if  I  understand  him  correctly,  a  positive  provision  for 

the  admission  of  Slavery  south  of  that  line.     And  now,  sir,  coming 

from  a  Slave  State,  as  I  do,  I  owe  it  to  myself,  I  owe  it  to  the 

truth,  I  owe  it  to  the  subject,  to  state  that  no  earthly  power  could 

induce  me  to  vote  for  a  specific  measure  for  the  introduction  of 

;  Slavery  where  it  had  not  before  existed,  either  south  or  north  of 

*s  that  line.     Coming,  as  I  do,  from  a  Slave  State,  it  is  my  solemn, 


THE   COMPROMISE  OF  1850.  257 

deliberate,  and  well-matured  determination  that  no  power  —  no 
earthly  power  —  shall  compel  me  to  vote  for  the  positive  introduc 
tion  of  Slavery,  either  south  or  north  of  that  line.  Sir,  while  you 
reproach,  and  justly,  too,  our  British  ancestors  for  the  introduction 
of  this  institution  upon  the  continent  of  America,  I  am,  for  one, 
unwilling  that  the  posterity  of  the  present  inhabitants  of  California 
and  New  Mexico  shall  reproach  us  for  doing  just  what  we  reproach 
Great  Britain  for  doing  to  us.  If  the  citizens  of  those  Territories 
choose  to  establish  Slavery,  I  am  for  admitting  them  with  such 
provisions  in  their  constitutions ;  but  then  it  will  be  their  own 
work,  and  not  ours;  and  their  posterity  will  have  to  reproach 
them,  and  not  us,  for  forming  constitutions  allowing  the  institution 
of  Slavery  to  exist  among  them.  These  are  my 'views,  sir,  and  I 
choose  to  express  them ;  and  I  care  not  how  extensively  and  uni 
versally  they  are  known.  The  honorable  Senator  from  Virginia 
(Mr.  Mason)  has  expressed  his  opinion  that  Slavery  exists  in  these 
Territories  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  opinion  is  sincerely  and  hon 
estly  entertained  by  him ;  and  I  would  say,  with  equal  sincerity 
and  honesty,  that  /  believe  that  Slavery  nowhere  exists  within  any 
portion  of  the  territory  acquired  by  us  from  Mexico.  He  holds  a 
directly  contrary  opinion  to  mine,  as  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  ; 
and  we  will  not  quarrel  about  the  difference  of  opinion." 

The  debate  thus  inaugurated  was  prosecuted  at  great  length. 
Mr.  Webster,  in  the  course  of  it,  startling  the  country  by  an 
elaborate  speech,*  wherein  he  took  ground  against  what  were 
termed  Slavery  agitation  and  agitators ;  against  the  asserted 
right  of  legislatures  to  instruct  senators ;  against  legislation 
to  exclude  Slavery  from  Federal  Territories,  &c.,  &c.  In  so 
doing  he  said  :  — 

"  Now,  as  to  California  and  New  Mexico,  I  hold  Slavery  to  be 
excluded  from  +  hose  Territories  by  a  law  even  superior  to  that 
which  admits  and  sanctions  it  in  Texas,  —  I  mean  the  law  of  Na 
ture,  -  of  physical  geography,  —  the  law  of  the  formation  of  the 
earth.  That  Itnv  settles  forever,  with  a  strength  beyond  all  terms 
of  human  enactment,  that  Slavery  cannot  exist  in  California  or 
New  Mexico.  .  .  I  will  say  further,  that,  if  a  resolution  or  a  bill 
were  before  us,  to  provide  a  Territorial  government  for  New  Mexico, 

*  March  7,  1850. 
17 


258  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

I  would  not  vote  to  put  any  prohibition  into  it  whatever.  Such  a 
prohibition  would  be  idle  as  it  respects  any  effect  it  would  have  on 
the  Territory  ;  and  I  would  not  take  pains  uselessly  to  reaffirm  an 
ordinance  of  Nature,  nor  to  reenact  the  will  of  God.  I  would  put 
in  no  Wilmot  Proviso  for  the  mere  purpose  of  a  taunt  or  a  reproach. 
I  would  put  into  it  no  evidence  of  the  votes  of  a  superior  power, 
exercised  for  no  purpose  but  to  wound  the  pride  of  the  citizens  of 
the  Southern  States." 

I  cannot  here  follow  the  great  debate  through  the  weary 
months  in  which  the  Senators  and  Representatives  of  Cali 
fornia  awaited  permission  to  take  the  seats  to  which  they  had 
been  chosen.  The  compromise  or  adjustment  proposed  by 
Mr.  Clay  was  assailed  from  either  side,  —  by  zealous  anti- 
Slavery  men  like  Hale,  Chase,  and  Seward ;  by  zealous,  ag 
gressive  j9r0-Slavery  men  like  Calhoun,  Jeff.  Davis,  Mason, 
and  Butler,  —  while  it  was  sustained  by  the  more  moderate 
J  members  of  either  great  party.  A  grand  committee  of  thir 
teen,  whereof  Mr.  Clay  was  chairman,  was  raised  on  the 
subject,  wherefrom  the  chairman  reported  *  his  plan,  modi 
fied  so  as  to  be  less  objectionable  to  pro-Slavery  men :  the 
vital  assertion  that  Slavery  had  then  no  legal  existence  in 
the  new  territories  being  omitted.  In  the  progress  of  the 
debate,  further  modifications  of  the  plan  were  made, —  all 
tending  in  the  same  direction ;  and  the  sudden  death  of 
General  Taylor,f  allowing  the  Presidency  to  devolve  on  Mr. 
Fillmore,  powerfully  aided  the  triumph  of  the  Compromise, 
which  had,  a  few  days  before,  seemed  all  but  hopeless.  Ulti 
mately,  bills  admitting  California,  organizing  New  Mexico  and 
Utah  as  Territories,  fixing  the  northern  boundary  of  Texas, 
and  giving  her  $10,000,000  for  consenting  thereto,  providing 
more  effectually  for  the  recovery  of  fugitive  slaves,  and  pro 
hibiting  the  bringing  of  slaves  into  the  Federal  district  for 
sale,  were  severally  passed, — though  with  very  diverse  support, 
—and  became  laws  of  the  land  :  thus,  it  was  fondly,  but  most 
mistakenly,  calculated,  putting  an  end  to  Sla>  '  <tion, 

and  ushering  in  a  long  era  of  fraternity  and  c  B  peace. 

*  May  18.  t  July  11. 


THE   COMPROMISE  OF  1850.  259 

Meantime,  Mr.  Calhoun  had  died,  March  31,  1850,  at  Wash 
ington,  where  Mr.  Clay  likewise  died,  June  29,  1852.  Mr. 
Webster  survived  his  great  compeer  less  than  four  months ; 
dying  at  his  home  in  Marshfield,  Mass.,  October  24th  of  that 
year.  These  three  left  no  statesmen  among  us  who  were 
their  equals  in  general  ability  or  in  power  to  fix  the  attention 
of  the  country.  We  still  read  speeches  in  Congress,  though 
generally  quite  satisfied  with  telegraphic  summaries  of  their 
contents,  but  we  no  longer  impatiently  await,  eagerly  enjoy, 
and  carefully  treasure  them,  as  we  did  those  of  the  great 
departed. 

The  question  is  often  asked,  "Were  the  traditional  great 
men  of  the  past  really  greater  than  their  living  successors  ? " 
I  can  only  answer  that,  while  I  presume  the  average  intellect 
of  our  day  is  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  last  generation,  I 
judge  that  the  master  minds  of  different  periods  are  attracted 
to  different  spheres  of  activity,  and  are  impelled  to  different 
stages  of  development.  Had  Henry  Clay  or  Daniel  Webster 
been  born  and  lived  fifty  years  earlier,  he  could  not  have 
failed  to  be  distinguished  and  honored  by  those  who  knew 
him ;  but  he  would  probably  have  achieved  distinction  as  a 
Eevolutionary  soldier,  or  in  some  other  sphere  than  that  of 
legislation. 

"  Is  it  not  hard,"  I  was  once  asked  by  the  Governor  of  an 
important  Western  State,  "  that  my  salary  should  be  far  less 
than  that  of  a  railroad  president  or  chief  engineer?"  "I 
infer  from  it,"  I  replied,  "  that  our  age  realizes  more  keenly 
its  need  of  competent  railroad  men  than  that  of  capable  gov 
ernors  of  States."  In  this,  as  in  many  things,  the  intensity 
of  the  demand  creates  or  regulates  the  supply.  If  we  now 
lack  great  political  debaters,  it  is  because  they  are  not  grfeatly 
required,  or  because  talent  is  more  in  demand  and  better 
rewarded  in  some  other  field  of  intellectual  exertion. 


XXXI. 

LIBELS    AND  LIBEL-SUITS. 

T7DITOBIAL  life  has  many  cares,  sundry  enjoyments, 
I  ^  with  certain  annoyances ;  and  prominent  among  these 
last  are  libel-suits.  I  can  hardly  remember  a  time  when  I 
was  absolutely  exempt  from  these  infestations.  In  fact,  as 
they  seem  to  be  a  main  reliance  for  support  of  certain  attor 
neys,  destitute  alike  of  character  and  law,  I  suppose  they 
must  be  borne  for  an  indefinite  period.  The  fact  that  these 
suits  are  far  more  common  in  our  State  than  elsewhere  cannot 
have  escaped  notice ;  and  I  find  the  reason  of  that  fact  in 
a  perversion  of  the  law  by  our  judges  of  thirty  to  fifty 
years  ago. 

The  first  notable  instance  of  this  perversion  occurred  on  the 
trial  of  Koot  v.  King,  at  Delhi,  about  1826.  General  Erastus 
Boot  was  a  leading  Democrat  through  the  earliest  third  of  this 
century,  and  was,  in  1824,  a  zealous  supporter  of  William  H. 
Crawford  for  President.  As  President  of  the  Senate,  he  pre 
sided  at  the  joint  meeting  of  the  two  Houses,  wherein  electors 
of  President  were  chosen  ;  when,  to  his  and  his  friends'  sore 
disappointment,  a  large  number  of  Adams,  and  but  few  Craw 
ford  men,  received  the  requisite  majority,  — the  friends  of 
Adams  and  those  of  Clay  having  privately  united  on  a 
common  ticket.  When  the  votes  for  this  ticket  began  to  be 
counted  out,  presaging  a  Crawford  defeat,  General  Koot  at 
tempted  to  break  up  the  joint  meeting,  and  thus  invalidate 
the  election.  For  this,  and  other  such  acts,  he  was  severely 
handled  by  The  New  York  American ;  whose  editor,  Charles 
King,  was  thereupon  sued  by  Boot  for  libel,  and  —  the  case 


LIBELS  AND  LIBEL-SUITS.  261 

being  tried  at  Delhi,  where  Eoot  resided  and  was  lord-para 
mount  —  the  jury,  under  the  rulings  of  a  Democratic  judge, 
gave  the  plaintiff  $1,400  damages.  It  was  a  most  unjust 
verdict,  based  on  a  perversion  of  the  law,  which,  if  sustained, 
left  the  press  no  substantial  liberty  to  rebuke  wrong-doing  or 
chastise  offenders.  And  the  perversion  of  justice  thus  effected 
naturally  led  to  still  further  and  worse  aberrations. 

Ten  or  a  dozen  years  afterward,  Mr.  J.  Fenimore  Cooper 
returned  from  a  long  residence  abroad,  during  which  many  of 
his  novels  had  been  written.  A  man  of  unquestioned  talent, 
—  almost  genius,  —  he  was  aristocratic  in  feeling  and  arro 
gant  in  bearing,  altogether  combining  in  his  manners  what  a 
Yankee  once  characterized  as  "  winning  ways  to  make  people 
hate  him."  Eetiring  to  his  paternal  acres  near  Cooperstown, 
N.  Y.,  he  was  soon  involved  in  a  difficulty  with  the  neighbor 
ing  villagers,  who  had  long  been  accustomed,  in  their  boating 
excursions  on  the  Lake  (Otsego),  to  land  and  make  themselves 
at  home  for  an  hour  or  two  on  a  long,  narrow  promontory  or 
"  point,"  that  ran  down  from  his  grounds  into  the  lake,  and 
whom  he  had  now  dissuaded  from  so  doing  by  legal  force. 
The  Whig  newspaper  of  the  village  took  up  the  case  for  the 
villagers,  urging  that  their  extrusion  from  "  The  Point,"  though 
legal,  was  churlish,  and  impelled  by  the  spirit  of  the  dog  in 
the  manger ;  whereupon  Cooper  sued  the  editor  for  libel,  re 
covered  a  verdict,  and  collected  it  by  taking  the  money  — 
through  a  sheriff's  officer  —  from  the  editor's  trunk.  By  this 
time,  several  Whig  journalists  had  taken  up  the  cudgels  for 
the  villagers  and  their  brother  editor ;  and,  as  Mr.  Cooper  had 
recently  published  two  caustic,  uncomplimentary,  self-com 
placent  works  on  his  countrymen's  ways  and  manners,  entitled 
"  Homeward  Bound,"  and  "  Home  as  Found,"  some  of  these 
castigations  took  the  form  of  reviews  of  those  works.  One  or 
more  of  them  appeared  in  The  Courier  and  Enquirer,  edited 
by  James  Watson  Webb ;  at  least  one  other  in  The  Commer 
cial  Advertiser,  edited  by  William  L.  Stone;  while  several 
racy  paragraphs,  unflattering  to  Mr.  Cooper,  spiced  the  edi 
torial  columns  of  The  Albany  Evening  Journal,  and  were  doubt- 


262  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

less  from  the  pen  of  its  founder  and  then  editor,  Mr.  Thurlow 
Weed.  Cooper  sued  them  all ;  bringing  several  actions  to 
trial  at  Fonda,  the  new  county-seat  of  Montgomery  County. 
He  had  no  luck  against  Colonel  Webb,  because,  presuming 
that  gentleman  moneyless,  he  prosecuted  him  criminally,  and 
could  never  find  a  jury  to  send  an  editor  to  prison  on  his 
account.  Colonel  Webb  was  defended  in  chief  by  Ambrose 
L.  Jordan,  afterward  Attorney-General  of  the  State,  an  able 
and  zealous  advocate,  who  threw  his  whole  soul  into  his  cases, 
and  who  did  by  no  means  stand  on  the  defensive. 

In  one  of  his  actions  against  Mr.  Weed,  he  was  more  fortu 
nate.  Weed  had  not  given  it  proper  attention;  and,  when 
the  case  was  called  for  trial  at  Fonda,  he  was  detained  at 
home  by  sickness  in  his  family,  and  no  one  appeared  for  him ; 
so  a  verdict  of  $  400  was  entered  up  against  him  by  default. 
He  was  on  hand  a  few  hours  afterward,  and  tried  to  have  the 
case  reopened,  but  Cooper  would  not  consent ;  so  Weed  had 
to  pay  the  $400  and  costs.  Deeming  himself  aggrieved, 
he  wrote  a  letter  to  The  Tribune,  describing  the  whole  per 
formance  ;  and  on  that  letter  Cooper  sued  me,  as  for  another 
libel. 

And  here  let  me  say,  that  Weed  was  forced  to  pay  some 
$  2,500  to  Cooper,  and  as  costs  in  his  various  suits,  most  un 
justly.  Weed  was  a  profound  admirer  of  Cooper's  novels,  — 
an  extravagant  one,  in  my  judgment,  —  and  was  so  fond  of 
quoting  them,  that  jokers  gravely  affirmed  that  he  evidently 
had  never  read  but  three  authors,  —  Shakespeare,  Scott,  and 
Cooper.  (At  a  later  day,  they  were  obliged  to  add  Dickens 
to  the  list.)  The  paragraphs  that  provoked  Cooper's  libel- 
suits  were  intended  by  Weed  rather  to  admonish  the  Ameri 
can  novelist  that  he  was  acting  absurdly,  suicidally,  in  quar 
relling  with  his  neighbors,  to  preclude  their  landing  on  "  The 
Point " ;  with  his  countrymen  by  his  harsh,  supercilious 
criticisms  on  their  manners  ;  and  with  the  Press  by  his  in 
numerable  libel-suits.  Not  a  shred,  a  spice  of  malice,  nor 
even  of  ill-will,  impelled  the  paragraphs  which  Cooper  re 
sented  so  litigiously. 


LIBELS  AND  LIBEL-SUITS.  263 

The  first  writ  wherewith  /  was  honored  "  By  the  Author 
of  the  '  Pioneers/  &c.,"  cited  me  to  answer  at  Ballston,  Sara 
toga  County,  on  the  first  Tuesday  (I  believe)  in  December, 
1842  ;  and  I  obeyed  it  to  the  letter.  I  employed  no  lawyers, 
not  realizing  that  I  needed  any.  In  its  turn,  the  case  was 
called,  and  opened  in  due  form  by  Eichard  Cooper  (nephew 
of  Fenimore)  for  the  plaintiff.  No  witnesses  were  called,  for 
none  were  needed.  I  admitted  the  publication,  and  accepted 
the  responsibility  thereof :  so  the  questions  to  be  tried  were 
these,  "  Was  the  plaintiff  libelled  by  such  publication  ?  If 
so,  to  what  amount  was  he  damaged  ? "  When  Eichard  had 
concluded,  I  said  all  that  I  deemed  necessary  for  the  defence ; 
and  then  Feniniore  summed  up  his  own  cause  in  a  longer 
and  rather  stronger  speech  than  Eichard's,  and  the  case  was 
closed.  So  far,  I  felt  quite  at  my  ease  ;  but  now  the  presiding 
judge  (Willard)  rose,  and  made  a  harder,  more  elaborate,  and 
disingenuous  speech  against  me  than  either  Eichard  or  Feni 
more  had  done ;  making  three  against  one,  which  I  did  not 
think  quite  fair.  He  absolutely  bullied  the  jury,  on  the  pre 
sumption  that  they  were  inclined  to  give  a  verdict  for  the 
defendant,  which  he  told  them  they  were  nowise  at  liberty 
to  do.  I  had  never  till  that  day  seen  one  of  them,  and  had 
never  sought  to  effect  any  intimacy  or  understanding  with 
them ;  so  I  must  say  that  the  judge's  charge  seemed  to  me 
as  unfair  as  possible.  The  jury  retired  at  its  close ;  and,  on 
balloting,  seven  of  them  voted  to  make  me  pay  $  100,  two 
voted  for  $  500,  one  for  $  1,000,  and  two  for  nothing  at  all,  — 
or  very  nearly  so.  They  soon  agreed  to  call  it  $  200,  and 
make  it  their  verdict ;  which  they  did.  When  all  the  costs 
were  paid,  I  was  just  $  300  out  of  pocket  by  that  lawsuit.  I 
have  done  better  and  worse  in  other  cases ;  but,  having  been 
most  ably  and  successfully  defended  in  several,  maugre  the 
proverb  that,  "  He  who  pleads  his  own  cause  has  a  fool  for  a 
client,"  I  am  satisfied  that,  could  I  have  found  time,  in  every 
case  wherein  I  was  sued  for  libel,  to  attend  in  person,  and 
simply,  briefly  state  the  material  facts  to  the  jury,  I  should 
have  had  less  to  pay  than  I  have  done.  There  is  always 


264  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

danger  that  the  real  merits  of  your  case  will  be  buried  out  of 
sight  under  heaps  of  legal  rubbish.  But  it  is  not  possible  for 
a  business  man  to  spend  his  whole  life  in  court-rooms,  waiting 
for  his  case  to  be  called ;  and  I  have  often  been  sued  in  dis 
tant  counties,  where  I  could  scarcely  attend  at  all. 

I  left  Ballston  in  a  sleigh  directly  upon  the  rendering  of 
the  verdict,  caught  a  steamboat,  I  think,  at  Troy,  and  was  at 
my  desk  in  good  season  next  morning ;  so  that,  by  11  P.  M.,  I 
had  written  out  and  read  in  proof,  besides  other  matter,  my 
report  of  the  trial,  which  filled  eleven  columns  of  the  next 
morning's  Tribune.  I  think  that  was  the  best  single  day's 
work  I  ever  did.  I  intended  that  the  report  should  be  good- 
natured, —  perhaps  even  humorous,  —  and  some  thought  I 
succeeded ;  but  Fenimore  seems  not  to  have  concurred  in  that 
opinion  ;  for  he  sued  me  upon  the  report  as  a  new  libel,  —  or, 
rather,  as  several  libels.  I  was  defended  against  this  new 
suit  by  Hons.  William  H.  Seward  and  A.  B.  Conger,  so  cleverly, 
that,  though  there  were  hearings  on  demurrer,  and  various 
expensive  interlocutory  proceedings,  the  case  never  came  to 
trial.  Indeed,  the  Legislature  had  meantime  overborne  some 
of  the  more  irrational  rulings  of  our  judges  ;  while  our  Judi 
ciary  itself  had  undergone  important  changes  through  the 
political  revolution  in  our  State,  and  the  influence  of  our  Con 
stitution  of  1846  ;  so  that  the  Press  of  New  York  now  enjoys 
a  freedom  which  it  did  not  in  the  last  generation. 

I  say  the  Press,  —  yet  only  the  journals  of  one  party  were 
judicially  muzzled.  Eather  more  than  forty  years  ago,  Mr. 
Weed,  then  living  at  Eochester,  was  positively  and  generally 
charged,  through  the  Democratic  journals,  with  having  shaved 
off  or  pulled  out  the  whiskers  of  a  dead  man,  in  order  to 
make  the  body  pass  for  that  of  the  long-missing  and  never- 
recovered  William  Morgan,  of  anti-Masonic  fame.  The 
charge  was  an  utterly  groundless  calumny,  having  barely  a 
shred  of  badinage  to  palliate  its  utterance.  Mr.  Weed  sued 
two  or  three  of  his  defamers ;  but  the  courts  were  in  the 
hands  of  his  political  adversaries,  and  he  could  never  succeed 
in  bringing  his  cases  to  trial.  Finally,  after  they  had  been' 


LIBELS  AND  LIBEL-SUITS.  265 

kicked  and  cuffed  about  for  ten  or  a  dozen  years,  they  were 
kicked  out,  as  too  ancient  and  fishlike  to  receive  atten 
tion. 

This  was  probably  the  best  disposition  for  him  that  could 
have  been  made  of  them.  If  he  had  tried  them,  and  recov 
ered  nominal  verdicts,  his  enemies  would  have  shouted  over 
those  verdicts  as  virtually  establishing  the  truth  of  their 
charges ;  while,  if  he  had  been  awarded  exemplary  damages, 
these  would  have  been  cited  as  measuring  the  damages  to  be 
given  against  him  in  each  of  the  hundred  libel-suits  there 
after  brought  against  him.  This  consideration  was  forcibly 
brought  home  to  me  when,  years  afterward,  having  been  out 
rageously  libelled  with  regard  to  a  sum  of  $1,000,  which  it 
was  broadly  intimated  that  a  railroad  or  canal  company  in 
Iowa  had  given  me  for  services  rendered,  or  to  be  rendered,  I 
ordered  suits  commenced  against  two  of  the  most  reckless 
libellers.  But,  when  time  had  been  allowed  for  reflection,  I 
perceived  that  I  could  afford  neither  to  lose  nor  to  win  these 
suits ;  that  such  verdicts  as  I  ought  to  recover  would  be  cited 
as  measuring  the  damages  that  I  ought  to  pay  in  all  future 
libel-suits  brought  against  me ;  so  I  gladly  accepted  such  re 
tractions  as  my  libellers  saw  fit  to  make,  and  discontinued  my 
suits.  Henceforth,  that  man  must  very  badly  want  to  be  sued 
who  provokes  me  to  sue  him  for  libel. 


Passing  in  silence  several  recent  cases  of  interest  wherein 
I  was  chosen  defendant,  —  cases  on  which  I  could  not  dilate 
without  annoyance  to  persons  yet  living,  —  I  close  with  a 
statement  of  points  in  difference,  as  I  understand  them,  be 
tween  sundry  judges  and  certain  editors  touching  the  Law 
of  Libel. 

I  have  often  heard  it  asserted  from  the  Bench  that  editors 
claim  impunity  to  libel,  —  which  is  not  the  truth.  What 
I  claim  and  insist  on  is  just  this :  That  the  editor  shall  le 
protected  by  the  nature  and  exigencies  of  his  calling  to  the 
same  extent,  and  in  the  same  degree,  that  other  men  are  pro- 


266  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

tected  ly  the  exigencies,  the  requirements,  of  THEIR  callings  or 
positions  respectively. 

For  instance :  A  judge  on  the  bench,  a  lawyer  at  the  bar, 
may  libel  atrociously ;  and  I  hold  may  be  fairly  held  respon 
sible  for  such  libel ;  but  the  law  will  not  presume  him  a  li 
beller  from  the  mere  fact  that  he  speaks  disparagingly  of  some 
person  or  persons.  A  householder  applied  to  for  the  charac 
ter  of  his  late  servant  may  respond :  "  I  turned  him  off  be 
cause  I  found  him  an  eye-servant,  a  drunkard,  and  a  thief " ; 
yet  the  law  will  presume  no  malice  not  specifically  proven ; 
because  it  avers  that,  in  giving  his  ex-servant's  character, 
that  householder  was  acting  in  the  line  of  his  duty.  Had 
he  posted  up  those  precise  words  in  a  public  place,  the  law 
would  have  presumed  malice,  because  no  duty  required  such 
posting. 

Now  let  us  apply  the  principle  above  enunciated  to  the 
actual  case  in  hand :  Jefferson  Jones  posts  up  in  a  bar-room, 
livery-stable,  or  on  the  town-pump,  these  words :  "  Clifford 
Nokes  was  last  night  caught  stealing  a  hog,  and  was  com 
mitted  by  Justice  Smith,  to  await  indictment  and  trial." 
The  law  will  presume  that  posting  malicious,  and  will  deal 
harshly  with  Jones  if  he  should  fail  to  prove  it  literally  true. 
And  why  ?  Clearly,  because  no  duty  required  him  to  make 
any  such  proclamation  of  his  neighbor's  alleged  frailty,— 
because  of  the  fair,  natural  presumption,  that  he  was  moved 
so  to  post  by  hate  or  malevolence.  But  that  same  paragraph 
might  appear  in  the  columns  of  any  journal  that  habitually 
printed  police  intelligence,  without  justifying  or  rendering 
plausible  a  kindred  presumption.  It  might,  indeed,  be  proved 
that  the  editor  had  inserted  the  item  with  malicious  intent  to 
injure  Nokes ;  and  then  I  say :  "  Punish  the  libeller  to  the 
extent  of  the  law."  But  I  protest  against  presuming,  an 
editor  a  libeller,  because,  in  the  routine  of  his  vocation,  the 
line  of  his  duty,  he  prints  information  which  may  prove  in 
accurate  or  wholly  erroneous,  without  fairly  exposing  him  to 
the  presumption  that  he  was  impelled  to  utter  it  by  a  ma 
levolent  spirit,  a  purpose  to  injure  or  degrade.  Am  I  un 
derstood  ? 


LIBELS  AND  LIBEL-SUITS.  267 

Twice,  in  the  course  of  my  thirty-odd  years  of  editorship, 
I  have  encountered  human  beings  base  enough  to  require  me 
to  correct  a  damaging  statement,  and,  after  I  had  done  so  to 
the  extent  of  their  desire,  to  sue  me  upon  that  retracted 
statement  as  a  libel !  I  think  this  proves  more  than  the 
depravity  of  the  persons  implicated,  —  that  it  indicates  a 
glaring  defect  in  the  law  or  the  ruling  under  which  such  a 
manoeuvre  is  possible.  If  the  law  were  honest,  or  merely 
decent,  it  would  refuse  to  be  made  an  accomplice  of  such 
villany. 

Ere  many  years,  I  hope  to  see  all  the  reputable  journals  of 
this  city,  if  not  of  the  entire  State,  unite  in  an  association 
for  mutual  defence  against  vexatious  and  unreasonable  libel- 
suits.  They  ought  to  do  this ;  employing  a  capable  and 
painstaking  lawyer,  to  whom  every  suit  for  libel  against  any 
member  of  the  association  should  at  once  be  referred,  with 
instructions  to  investigate  it  candidly,  and  decide  whether  its 
defence  ought  or  ought  not  to  devolve  on  the  press  generally. 
If  not,  let  it  be  remitted  to  the  counsel  for  the  journal  prose 
cuted  ;  but,  if  the  prosecution  be  clearly  unreasonable  and 
vexatious,  —  a  lawyer's  dodge  to  levy  black  mail,  —  then  let 
no  money  or  effort  be  spared  to  baffle  and  defeat  the  nefari 
ous  attempt.  Such  a  combination  for  mutual  defence  would 
arrest  the  prevailing  habit  of  paying  $50  or  $100  to  buy 
off  the  plaintiff's  attorney  as  the  cheapest  way  out  of  a 
bother,  would  soon  greatly  reduce  the  number  of  suits  for 
libel,  and  would  result  in  a  substantial  and  permanent  en 
largement  of  the  Freedom  of  the  Press.  It  should  have 
been  formed  long  ago. 


XXXII. 

EUROPE.  — THE  WORLD'S  EXPOSITION. 

THE  year  1851  was  signalized  by  the  first  grand  Exposi 
tion  of  the  products  of  All  Nations'  Art  and  Industry. 
It  was  held  in  Hyde  Park,  London,  once  at  the  extreme  west 
end  of  that   metropolis,  but  long   since   enveloped  by  her 
steady,  imperial  growth  in  commerce,  wealth,  and  population. 
Prince  Albert,  the  Queen's  husband,  having  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  enterprise,  the  Queen  did  her  best  to  insure  its 
success ;  and  her  influence,  exerted  to  the  utmost,  extended 
far  beyond  her  Court  and  those  who  aspire  to  bask  in  its  beams. 
A  portion  of  the  Tory  Aristocracy  stood  aloof,  or  only  visited 
the  Exposition  as  careless  sight-seers  ;  but  the  Ptoyal  Family, 
the    Liberal   Aristocracy,   the    Manufacturing,    Commercial, 
and  more  intelligent  Laboring  classes,  were  united  and  en 
thusiastic  in  their  efforts  to  secure  the  success  of  the  grand 
undertaking.     I  judge  that  the  habitual  frigidity  of  British 
bearing  toward  foreigners  was  never  before  so  thoroughly  put 
aside  or  overcome.     "  You  foreigners,"  said  Earl  Granville  at 
a  great  dinner  given  at  Richmond  to  the  Foreign  Commis 
sioners  and  Jurors,  "  complain  that  we  English  are  icy  and 
repulsive ;  but  you  never  give  us  a  fair  chance  to  be  other 
wise.     We  try  to  be  courteous  and  hospitable  whenever  we 
are  afforded  an  opportunity.     Don't  we  make  heroic,  though 
luckless,  attempts  to  speak  your  several  languages  ?     Don't 
we  try  in  every  way  to  make  ourselves  agreeable  ?     Give  us 
a  fair  trial  before  you  condemn  us  as  exclusive  and  unsocial." 
In  this  spirit,  the  great  mass  of  the  educated,  thrifty  classes 
treated   their   many   foreign   visitors   throughout   that   long 


EUROPE.  —  THE    WORLD'S  EXPOSITION.  269 

Summer.  I  doubt  that  the  hospitality  which  is  evinced  in 
entertainments  and  festivities  was  ever  more  widely  displayed 
anywhere,  or  with  more  persistent  generosity. 

And  I  doubt  that  another  exhibition,  so  comprehensive,  so 
instructive,  has  since  been  or  ever  will  be  presented,  though 
several  have  been,  and  many  doubtless  will  be,  so  planned,  so 
weeded,  as  to  embody  only  articles  of  decided  merit,  as  this 
did  not.  For,  as  all  nations  were  invited  to  send  samples  of 
their  exportable  products  to  this  Exposition,  all  had  done  so, 
without  at  all  considering  the  figure  these  would  cut  when 
compared  with  the  kindred  products  of  other  countries.  Side 
by  side  with  the  subtlest  and  most  elaborate  devices  of  British 
and  American  locksmiths  to  guard  the  hoards  of  bankers  and 
capitalists  from  spoliation,  were  the  rude  contrivances  of 
Tunisian  or  Thibetan  blacksmiths,  clumsily  hammered  out  of 
poor  iron,  on  a  very  rude  anvil,  and  doing  no  credit  to  the 
workmanship,  even  after  all  due  allowances  had  been  made. 
The  striking  contrasts  thus  presented  in  almost  every  depart 
ment  of  the  Exposition  gave  it  a  piquancy  and  zest  which  are 
henceforth  unattainable ;  for  the  contributors  of  sorry  speci 
mens,  having  thus  been  made  aware  of  their  own  relative 
demerits,  refuse  thenceforth  to  appear  as  foils  for  their  bril 
liant  rivals  ;  and  any  attempt  to  replace  them  by  samples 
gathered  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  on  purpose  to  be  derided 
and  ridiculed,  must  almost  necessarily  prove  a  failure. 
Hereafter,  we  shall  find  in  kindred  expositions  only  the  best 
products  of  the  cleverest,  most  ingenious  of  the  world's  arti 
ficers  ;  while  the  worse,  and  even  worst,  by  which  their  worth 
was  so  admirably  set  off  and  illustrated  in  1851,  will  remain 
in  their  coveted  oblivion. 

The  Crystal  Palace,  wherein  the  Exhibition  was  held,  was 
constructed  wholly  of  iron  and  glass,  and  was  one  of  the 
noblest,  most  magnificent,  most  graceful  edifices  ever  seen. 
Its  grand  avenue^  traversing  its  centre  from  end  to  end,  was 
studded  with  some  of  the  rarest  and  costliest  articles  ex 
hibited,  including  Powers's  statue  of  "  The  Greek  Slave,"  the 
Queen's  matchless  "  Koh-i-Noor,"  or  Mountain  of  Light,  said 


270  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

to  be  next  to  the  largest  diamond  in  existence,  and  hundreds 
more  of  the  most  admirable  products  of  Art  and  Nature. 
Several  stately  and  gracious  elms,  which  were  among  the 
chief  ornaments  of  the  Park,  grew  on  the  site  chosen  for  the 
Palace,  arid  were  a  chief  obstacle  to  its  concession,  as  this 
was  supposed  to  involve  their  destruction  ;  but  the  stately 
edifice  was  made  to  include  and  cover  them,  so  that  they  put 
forth  their  ample  foliage  and  stood  green  and  graceful  through 
out  the  Exhibition  under  its  transparent  roof,  each  of  them 
"  a  thing  of  beauty  "  and  a  positive  enhancement  of  the  fairy 
spectacle  on  every  side  presented.  Aladdin's  fabled  palace 
may  have  been  richer  in  gold  and  gems;  but  ours  far  ex 
ceeded  his  in  the  extent  and  multiplicity  of  its  devices  for 
the  sustenance,  comfort,  enjoyment  of  mankind,  —  its  number 
less  steam-driven  spindles,  looms,  &c.,  would  have  far  out 
worked  all  the  genii  or  gnomes  of  the  Arabian  romance  ; 
while  the  vast  crowds  of  human  beings,  especially  of  sump 
tuously,  picturesquely  apparelled  women,  who  thronged  that 
grand  avenue  throughout  day  after  day  for  weeks  and  months, 
had  no  rival  even  in  the  most  gorgeous  creations  of  Oriental 
fancy. 

Having  left  New  York  in  the  stanch  American  steamship 
Baltic,  Capt.  J.  J.  Comstock,  on  the  llth  of  April,  when  a 
strong  and  cold  northeaster  had  just  set  in,  we  took  it  with 
us  across  the  Atlantic,  rarely  blest  with  a  brief  glimpse  of  the 
watery  sun  during  our  rough  passage  of  twelve  days  and 
some  hours,  encountering  a  severe  gale  on  our  first  night  out, 
and  another  as  we  reached  soundings  on  the  Irish  coast ;  and 
being  surfeited  with  rain  and  head-winds  during  our  entire 
passage,  I  was  sick  unto  death's  door  for  most  of  the  time, 
eating  by  an  effort  when  I  ate  at  all,  and  as  thoroughly  miser 
able  as  I  knew  how  to  be  ;  so  that  the  dirty,  grimy  little  tug 
that  at  last  approached  to  take  us  ashore  at  Liverpool  seemed 
to  me,  though  by  no  means  white-winged,  an  angel  of  deliver 
ance  ;  and  my  first  meal  on  solid,  well-behaving  earth  will 
long  be  remembered  with  gratitude  to  the  friends  who  pro- 


EUROPE.  —  THE    WORLD'S  EXPOSITION.  271 

vided  and  shared  it.  I  have  since  repeatedly  braved  the 
perils  and  miseries  of  the  raging  main,  and  have  never  found 
the  latter  so  intolerable  as  on  that  first  voyage  ;  yet  the  ocean 
and  I  remain  but  distant,  unloving  acquaintances,  with  no 
prospect  of  ever  becoming  friends. 

Reaching  London  just  before  the  Exposition  opened,  I  was 
accorded  by  the  partiality  of  my  countrymen  who  had  pre 
ceded  me  (somewhat  strengthened,  I  believe,  by  their  jeal 
ousy  of  each  other)  the  position  of  Chairman  of  one  of  the 
Juries,  —  each  of  the  countries  largely  represented  in  the 
Exposition  being  allowed  one  Chairman.  My  department 
(Class  X.)  included  about  three  thousand  lots  (not  merely 
three  thousand  articles),  and  was  entitled,  I  believe,  Hard 
ware  ;  but  it  embraced  not  only  metals,  but  all  manner  of 
devices  for  generating  or  economizing  gas,  for  eliminating  or 
diffusing  heat,  &c.,  &c.  The  duties  thus  devolved  upon  me 
were  entirely  beyond  my  capacity  ;  but  my  vice-Chairman, 
Mr.  William  Bird,  a  leading  British  iron-master  and  London 
merchant,  was  as  eminently  qualified  for  those  duties  as  I  was 
deficient ;  and  between  us  the  work  was  so  done  that  no  com 
plaint  of  its  quality  ever  reached  me.  We  had  several  most 
competent  colleagues  on  our  jury,  among  them  M.  Spitaels,  of 
Belgium,  a  director  of  the  Vielle  Montaigne  Zinc  Mines,  and 
one  of  the  wisest  and  best  men  I  ever  knew. 

Revisiting  England  four  years  thereafter,  I  called  on  my 
friend  Bird,  and  he  told  me  this  anecdote  :  — 

"  You  may  remember,"  he  premised,  "  that  I  paid  special 
attention  to  foreign  iron  throughout  our  service  as  jurors  in 
the  Exposition,  and  that  I  dwelt  on  the  admirable  quality  of 
certain  of  the  Austrian  products  which  came  within  our  pur 
view.  Well :  two  years  thereafter,  when  Summer  brought  its 
usual  dulness  of  trade,  I  thought  I  would  run  over  and  see 
how  those  products  were  made.  So,  providing  myself  with 
as  good  letters  as  I  could  command,  I,  in  due  time,  waited  on 
Lord  Westmoreland,  our  Ambassador  at  Vienna.  He  received 
me  courteously,  but  soon  said :  '  I  perceive,  Mr.  Bird,  that  the 
letters  you  hand  me  from  Lord  Palmerston,  Lord  John  Kus- 


272  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

sell,  &c.,  imply  something  more  than  ordinary  civilities. 
What  do  you  desire  ? '  'I  seek  an  order  from  the  Austrian 
Minister  of  Industry  [or  whatever  the  designation  may  be], 
authorizing  me  to  visit  all  the  great  iron- works  in  the  Em 
pire.'  '  Why,  Mr.  Bird/  rejoined  the  Ambassador,  '  you  can 
not  be  aware  of  the  jealousy  wherewith  British  predominance 
in  iron- working  is  here  regarded,  or  you  would  as  soon  request 
me  to  ask  the  Minister  to  cede  you  Hungary.  I  cannot  pre 
sent  your  request.'  So  (continued  Mr.  B.),  I  left  the  Ambas 
sador,  thoroughly  rebuffed,  and  returned  to  my  carriage,  in 
which  I  had  left  an  Austrian  friend,  who  had  been  a  commis 
sioner  at  our  Exposition.  '  What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Bird  ? ' 
he  at  once  inquired ;  '  you  seem  to  have  met  with  a  disap 
pointment.'  I  certainly  had,  as  I  proceeded  to  explain.  '  But 
why  not  yourself  ask  ihe  Minister  for  the  privilege  you  de 
sire  ? '  '  Because  he  never  heard  of  me.'  '  There  you  are 
mistaken,'  said  the  Austrian ;  and,  opening  his  official  report 
on  the  London  Exposition,  he  pointed  therein  to  repeated  and 
hearty  acknowledgments  of  the  highly  important  services 
rendered  to  the  Austrian  exhibitors  by  Mr.  Bird,  of  the  tenth 
jury.  He  offered  at  once  to  introduce  and  commend  me  to 
the  Minister,  and  I  gladly  assented.  Having  been  introduced 
accordingly  in  the  most  flattering  terms,  the  Minister  soon 
asked,  '  Mr.  Bird,  can  I  do  nothing  to  make  your  visit  agree 
able  ? '  -  -  when  I  indicated  my  wish  to  visit  the  iron-works 
of  Austria.  '  With  the  greatest  pleasure,'  he  responded,  and 
at  once  wrote  me  the  desired  order,  couched  in  most  emphatic 
and  sweeping  terms.  Thereupon,  I  left  him,  and  spent  my 
next  month  in  a  tour  through  the  iron-producing  districts  of 
the  empire,  —  everywhere  received  most  hospitably,  and  shown 
all  that  I  asked  or  wished  to  see.  Eeturning,  at  last,  to 
Vienna,  I  made  a  parting  call  on  Lord  Westmoreland ;  and, 
in  reply  to  his  inquiry,  informed  him  that  I  had  spent  my 
time,  since  my  previous  call,  among  the  iron-works  of  Ca- 
rinthia,  Styria,  &c.  '  But  how  did  you  obtain  the  needful 
order  ? '  he  inquired.  '  I  asked  the  Minister  for  it  in  my  own 
name,  and  he  readily  granted  it.'  'Very  well,  Mr.  Bird,' 


EUROPE.  —  THE    WORLD'S  EXPOSITION.  273 

rejoined  the  puzzled  Ambassador,  '  should  I  ever  have  any 
great  favor  to  ask  of  the  Austrian  Government,  I  may  be 
glad  to  avail  myself  of  your  influence.'  " 


The  council  of  the  Exposition  was  composed  of  the  chair 
men  of  the  several  juries;  its  president  was  Lord  Canning 
(son  of  the  great  Canning),  who  died  Governor-General  of 
India  some  ten  years  thereafter.  I  regarded  him  with  deep 
interest  for  his  father's  sake,  —  that  father  having  been  Eng 
land's  foremost  man  for  years  within  my  recollection.  The 
son  seemed  a  man  of  decided  cleverness  and  geniality,  while 
his  countenance  denoted  wit,  though  I  recollect  nothing  said 
by  him  that  confirmed  my  prepossession.  Of  the  higher  aris 
tocracy,  I  remember  only  the  Duke  .of  Argyle,  —  a  small, 
slight,  sandy-haired  person,  gentle  in  manner,  modest  in  bear 
ing,  and  nowise  exacting  the  servile  deference  generally  paid 
by  personal  merit  to  inherited  rank  in  Great  Britain.  I  am 
sure  Lord  Canning,  who  had  evidently  a  keen  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  must  have  been  nauseated  by  the  genuflexions  and 
prostrations,  —  "  If  your  lordship  will  permit  me  to  remark," 
"  If  I  may  presume  to  claim  your  lordship's  attention  for 
a  moment,"  &c.,  &c.  —  wherewith  he  was  habitually  addressed 
by  men  whose  achievements  in  Science  and  its  applications 
were  elements  at  once  of  England's  glory  and  of  her  pros 
perity  and  greatness.  I  may  have  seen  a  favorable  sample  of 
the  British  nobility,  but  those  I  met  were  simply  and  emi 
nently  gentlemen,  —  and  none  more  so  than  Arthur,  Duke  of 
Wellington,  —  the  Duke,  then  more  than  eighty  years  old, 
who  was  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  frequent  visitors  to  our 
American  quarter,  and  one  of  the  very  first  to  proclaim  - 
while  the  great  London  journals  were  jeering  at  the  poverty 
and  shabbiness  of  our  department — its  eminent  and  remark 
able  excellence.  He  not  merely  visited,  he  studied  and 
inquired ;  and  no  more  unpretending,  fair-minded  seeker  of 
practical  information  was  among  our  visitors.  He  was  one  of 
those  privileged,  with  the  jurors,  to  enter  and  examine  during 
18 


274  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

the  early  morning  hours,  when  the  public  was  excluded,  and 
when  the  queen,  with  her  attendants,  spent  hours  there,  day 
after  day,  —  in  part,  doubtless,  to  satisfy  a  legitimate  interest, 
but  in  part,  also,  to  commend  and  render  popular  the  Exposi 
tion  ;  so  that,  as  my  friend  Charles  Lane  aptly  remarked, 
"  You  could  not  exactly  say  whether  she  stood  on  this  side 
of  the  counter  or  on  that."  I  am  sure,  few  labored  more 
earnestly,  more  indefatigably  than  she  did  to  make  the  enter 
prise  a  success,  and  no  one  with  more  decided  efficiency. 

British  self-complacency  and  British  fairness  were  both 
strikingly  evinced  in  the  conduct  of  the  Exhibition.  The 
chairman  of  the  Agricultural  jury  was  Mr.  Philip  Pusey,  M.  P. 
(brother  of  the  clergyman  of  Tractarian  fame),  who  inhabited 
and  enjoyed  a  generous  estate  in  Berkshire,  which  had  been 
likewise  inhabited  and  enjoyed  by  his  ancestors  for  genera 
tions  preceding  the  Norman  conquest.  Eepeatedly,  he  brought 
up  to  the  council  a  request  from  his  jury  that  they  might  be 
authorized  to  award  prizes  to  the  best,  and  the  second-best, 
American,  Belgium,  French,  &c.,  ploughs,  —  and  so  of  other 
implements,  —  a  request  evidently  prompted  by  apprehen 
sions  that  they  would  otherwise  be  constrained  by  the  general 
superiority  of  British  implements  to  award  prizes  to  them 
only.  "  Mr.  President,"  I  urged  in  opposition,  "  we  are  asked 
to  destroy  the  practical  value  of  our  awards  altogether.  It 
will  be  idle  for  this  body  to  award  a  prize  to  one  American 
as  better  for  a  given  purpose  than  another  American  plough, 
—  we  can  settle  that  point  at  home.  Nor  do  we  wish  you  to 
award  a  prize  to  an  American,  as  best  adapted,  say,  to  work 
ing  stiff  clay  soils,  if  there  be  a  much  better  plough  for  that 
purpose  sent  here  from  some  other  country.  We  do  not  wish 
to  be  confirmed  in  our  errors,  but  warned  to  forsake  them. 
Let  your  prizes  be  awarded  only  to  what  is  absolutely  best, 
and  we  shall  then  be  enabled,  if  other  nations  have  better 
ploughs  than  ours,  to  adopt  and  profit  by  them."  Others 
urged  the  same  views  more  forcibly ;  and  the  Agricultural, 
like  all  other  juries,  was  ultimately  obliged  to  conform  to  the 
original  programme. 


EUROPE.  —  THE   WORLD'S  EXPOSITION.  275 

When  the  council  had  met,  late  in  July,  for  what  was  in 
tended  to  be  its  last  sitting,  Mr.  Pusey  said,  "  I  am  constrained 
to  ask,  on  behalf  of  the  Agricultural  jury,  that  another  meet 
ing  of  this  body  be  held  some  fortnight  hence.  We  have, 
this  week,  been  testing  reapers  at  Tiptree  Hall  (M.  Mechi's), 
and  one  of  the  American  machines  (Mr.  C.  H.  McCormick's) 
surprised  us  by  the  efficiency  and  the  excellence  of  its  opera 
tion.  But  the  day  was  rainy  and  the  grain  unripe ;  so  we  do 
not  feel  sure  that  its  triumph  was  not  owing  to  those  circum 
stances.  We  require  another  trial  on  a  fair  day,  with  ripe, 
dry  grain  ;  and,  should  this  machine  then  do  as  well  as  it  has 
already  done  under  our  eyes,  we  must  ask  for  it  the  very 
highest  award."  The  request  was  granted ;  the  trial  repeated 
under  the  conditions  required,  with  a  success  fully  equal  to 
that  previously  achieved ;  and  a  Council  Medal  solicited  and 
awarded  accordingly. 


I  travelled  hastily,  that  Summer,  through  France,  from 
Calais,  by  Paris,  to  Lyons  and  across  Savoy  and  Mount  Cenis, 
into  Italy,  —  visiting  Turin,  Genoa,  Eome,  Florence,  Ferrara, 
Bologna,  Padua,  Venice,  and  Milan ;  recrossing  the  Alps  by 
the  St.  Gothard  pass,  and  thence  coming  down  through  Altorf 
and  Lucerne  to  the  Ehine  at  Basle ;  and  so  down  the  great 
river  to  Cologne  ;  thence,  across  Belgium,  by  Aix-la-Chapelle 
and  Brussels,  into  Northern  France,  and  back  to  London,  by 
Paris,  Dieppe,  and  New  Haven.  I  soon  after  journeyed  north 
ward  through  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  York,  and  Berwick-on- 
Tweed,  to  Edinburgh;  thence,  by  Glasgow,  to  Belfast  and 
Dublin ;  thence  westward,  through  Athlone  to  Galway ;  and, 
after  returning  to  Dublin,  through  Wexford  and  Tipperary,  so 
far  southward  as  Limerick ;  returning,  through  Wales,  to 
Liverpool,  and  there  taking  the  Baltic  for  home.  The  very 
few  deductions  from  such  hasty  journeyings  that  I  may  haz 
ard  will  be  submitted  in  future  chapters. 


XXXIII. 

THE  DISSOLUTION   OF  THE  WHIG  PARTY. 

T^vIEDRICH  KNICKERBOCKER,  the  most  sagacious 
1  )  and  most  popular  historian  of  the  Dutch  era  of  our 
city  and  State,  notes  one  grave  error  of  the  New  Netherland 
magnates,  and  their  pushing,  meddling,  encroaching  Yankee 
neighbors,  in  that,  having  wisely  stopped  righting  and  betaken 
themselves  instead  to  negotiation,  they  did  not  protract  indefi 
nitely  that  amiable  and  hopeful  procedure,  but  terminated  it 
abruptly  by  a  treaty ;  over  the  interpreting  of  which  their 
quarrel  instantly  broke  out  afresh,  and  raged  with  greater 
fury  than  before. 

Their  blunder  has  been  often  repeated. 

The  Compromise  of  1850  had  been  carried  through  the 
XXXIst  Congress,  not  long  after  President  Taylor's  death, 
mainly  by  virtue  of  the  $  10,000,000  given  therein  to  Texas 
for  the  relinquishment  of  her  preposterous  claim  to  New 
Mexico.  That  donation  raised  the  value  of  several  millions 
of  outstanding  Texas  bonds  from  ten  or  fifteen  cents  on  the 
dollar  to  par.  A  Western  Governor  told  me,  a  few  years 
afterward,  that  he  administered  on  the  estate  of  one  of  the 
Senators  from  his  State  who  helped  pass  the  Compromise 
measure,  and  who  soon  after  died,  and  that  among  said  Sena 
tor's  assets  he  found  nearly  $  30,000  of  those  Texan  bonds, 
with  no  scratch  of  pen  to  indicate  how  he  came  by  them,  or 
how  much  he  gave  for  them.  Had  he  been  a  Croesus,  this 
would  have  been  extraordinary ;  as  he  was  a  politician  and 
legislator  of  moderate  means,  it  could  be  accounted  for  in  but 
one  way. 


THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE    WHIG  PARTY.         277 

The  Compromise  measures  had  been  carried  by  the  votes' 
of  all  the  Northern  Democrats  but  a  few  decided  opponents 
of  the  Slave  Power,  all  the  Southern  Whigs,  with  scarcely  an 
exception,  a  minority  of  the  Southern  Democrats,  and  a  de 
cided  minority  of  the  Northern  Whigs,  —  a  minority  absolutely 
inconsiderable  until  decidedly  strengthened  by  Mr.  Fillmore's 
accession  to  the  Presidency.  Having  now  the  National  Ad 
ministration  on  their  side,  the  Compromisers  endeavored  to 
make  devotion  to  their  measure  a  touchstone  of  political 
orthodoxy;  and  a  manifesto  was  drawn  up  and  signed  by 
forty  or  fifty  members  of  Congress,  pledging  themselves  to 
support  no  man  for  any  office  who  did  not  sustain  the  Com 
promise. 

A  Whig  State  Convention  met  at  Syracuse  in  the  Autumn" ' 
of  1850,  and  nominated  a  State  Ticket  headed  by  Washington 
Hunt  for  Governor.  Francis  Granger  was  President  of  that 
Convention.  Its  resolves  said  nothing  pro  or  con  of  the  Com-"  ^ 
promise,  but  one  of  them  approved  the  course  of  Governor 
Seward  in  the  United  States  Senate  (which  he  had  entered 
on  the  day  of  President  Taylor's  inauguration) ;  and  this  was 
vehemently  resisted  by  the  "Conservative"  or  Compromise 
minority  of  the  delegates,  who,  headed  by  its  President,  va 
cated  their  seats  on  its  adoption.  In  the  contest  which  fol- 
lowed,  Hunt  was  barely  chosen  over  Horatio  Seymour ;  but 
the  Democrats  carried  their  Lieutenant-Governor  (Church), 
with  most,  if  not  all,  of  their  remaining  State  officers.  It  was 
clear  that  the  "  Silver  Grays,"  (or  Conservative  Whigs,)  had 
either  refused  to  vote,  or  gone  over  to  the  Democracy ;  though 
Governor  Hunt  was  in  fact  one  of  themselves,  and,  after 
running  once  more  for  Governor,  and  being  badly  beaten  by 
the  "  Silver  Grays,"  he  went  openly  over  to  them,  and  assidu 
ously  sought,  but  never  found,  promotion  at  their  hands  and 
those  of  the  Democrats,  with  whom  he  had  by  this  time  be 
come  completely  affiliated. 

Connecticut  was,  in  like  manner,  barely  carried  over  to  the 
Democrats  by  the  "Silver  Grays"  in  the  Spring  of  1851,  an<J 
Hon.  Eoger  8.  Baldwin,  who  had  opposed  the  Compromise  in 


278  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

j  the  Senate,  was  supplanted  by  Isaac  Toucey.  Thus  the 
( usually  doubtful  or  closely  contested  Free  States  were  gener 
ally  carried  by  the  Democrats,  who  elected  United  States 
Senators  from  nearly  all  of  them  between  185Q  and  1854 ; 
giving  their  party  an  overwhelming  preponderance  in  the 
upper  House  for  the  six  years  prior  to  1861. 

In  the  South,  the  opponents  of  the  Compromise  attempted 
to  make  head  under  the  banner  of  State  Rights.  Mississippi 
having  been  represented  in  the  Senate  of  1850  by  Jefferson 
Davis,  who  strongly  opposed,  and  by  Henry  S.  Foote,  who  as 
vehemently  supported,  the  Compromise,  that  State  divided 
into  two  new  parties,  termed  "  Union "  and  "  State  Eights  " 
respectively,  and  nominated  the  two  Senators  as  rival  candi 
dates  for  Governor.  A  most  spirited  contest  resulted  in  the 
polling  of  an  unprecedented  vote,  —  nearly  60,000  in  all, — 
and  the  choice  of  Foote,  "  Union,"  by  more  than  1,000  ma 
jority.  The  residue  of  the  Union  Ticket  was  carried  by  a  still 
larger  average  majority. 

In  South  Carolina,  the  new  parties  were  essentially  the 
same,  but  the  names  were  different ;  "  Cooperation  "  —  that  is, 
a  resolve  to  solicit  and  await  the  concurrence  of  other  Slave 
States  before  initiating  forcible  resistance  to  the  Compromise 
acts  —  being  adopted  as  the  watchword  of  the  more  moderate 
party.  As  their  election  did  not  come  off  till  Mississippi  and 
other  Southern  States  had  unequivocally  decided  against  the 
"  Chivalry,"  or  "  Fire-Eaters,"  these  were  beaten  here  also  by 
a  large  majority,  and  the  hope  of  dragging  the  South  into  an 
attitude  of  Nullification  or  Disunion  on  this  issue  shown  to 
be  utterly  futile. 


And  now  the  two  great  parties  held  their  several  Presiden 
tial  Conventions,  —  that  of  the  Whigs  assembling  at  Baltimore, 
about  the  1st  of  June,  1852.  Mr.  Fillmore  was  supported  for 
reelection  by  nearly  all  the  Southern,  as  General  Scott  was 
by  the  great  body  of  the  Northern,  adherents  of  the  drooping 
flag.  The  delegates  friendly  to  either  were  130  to  134  in 


THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE    WHIG  PARTY.         279 

number,  while  30  to  36  preferred  Mr.  Webster  to  either  of 
them.  Mr.  Webster  had  been  the  Ajax  of  Compromise,  had 
been  chosen  by  Mr.  Fillmore  as  his  Secretary  of  State,  and  in 
that  capacity  had  given  character  and  dignity  to  the  Adminis 
tration.  There  was  reason,  therefore,  for  Mr.  Webster's  san 
guine  hope,  that,  when  Mr.  Fillmore's  nomination  was  proved 
clearly  hopeless,  his  name  would  be  withdrawn,  and  his 
strength  transferred  to  his  illustrious  premier.  This  hope  was 
doomed,  however,  to  disappointment.  Forty  or  fifty  ballots 
were  had  without  result ;  when  the  supporters  of  Webster 
gradually  went  over  to  Scott,  who  was  thereupon  nominated, 
with  William  A.  Graham,  of  North  Carolina,  for  Vice-Presi- 
dent. 

But  the  friends  of  Fillmore  and  Webster,  though  differing 
as  to  candidates,  were  a  unit  as  to  platform ;  and  they  framed  . 
one  which  pledged  the  party  unequivocally  to  the  support 
and  maintenance  of  the  Compromises  of  1850.  General 
Scott  made  haste  to  plant  himself  squarely  on  this  platform, 
which  was  in  undoubted  accordance  with  his  own  preposses 
sions.  He  thus  alienated  thousands  of  Anti-Slavery  Whigs^A 
whose  detestation  of  the  new  and  stringent  Fugitive  Slave  law 
was  uncontrollable  ;  while  the  Conservative  or  "  Silver  Gray  " 
Whigs,  would  not  support  him  because  the  great  body  of 
Anti-Slavery  Whigs  did,  and  because  they  foresaw  that  his 
counsellors  must  necessarily  be  chosen  in  good  part  from 
among  these. 

The  delegates  to  the  Democratic  National  Convention  were 
divided  in  their  preferences  for  President,  —  General  Cass 
and  Mr.  Buchanan  being  the  leading  favorites,  but  a  good 
many  votes  being  scattered  upon  others.  Finally,  Franklin 
Pierce,  of  Xew  Hampshire,  was  brought  forward,  and  nomi 
nated  with  substantial  unanimity.  He  had  been  a  representa 
tive  in,  and  finally  Speaker  of,  the  more  popular  branch  of  the 
Legislature  of  his  State,  a  Piepresentative  and  Senator  in  Con 
gress,  and  then  a  volunteer  and  Brigadier-General  in  the  Mexi 
can  WTar,  but  had  passed  the  last  eight  years  mainly  in  retire 
ment.  A  pleasing  canvasser,  of  popular  address  and  manners, 


280  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

he  could  not  be  said  to  have  achieved  eminence,  whether  in 
his  civil  or  his  military  career ;  indeed,  General  Cass,  who 
had  served  with  him  two  or  three  years  as  fellow-Democrats 
in  the  Senate,  had  not  made  his  acquaintance  up  to  the  hour 
of  his  nomination.  Hon.  William  li.  King,  of  Alabama,  who 
had  long  been  United  States  Senator  from  that  State,  was 
nominated  with  him  for  Vice-President. 

The  ensuing  canvass  was  short,  tolerably  spirited,  but  one 
sided  from  the  start.  The  Democrats,  who  were  quietly 
ploughing  with  the  "Silver  Gray"  heifer  throughout,  knew 
they  were  backed  to  win,  —  that  there  could  be  no  mistake 
about  it.  The  Whigs  tried  hard  to  stem  the  tide ;  but  the 
nomination  of  John  P.  Hale  for  President  by  the  Abolitionists 
was  a  heavy  side-blow,  as  he  was  sure  to  take  thousands  of 
votes  which,  but  for  the  Compromise  platform,  would  have 
been  given  for  Scott.  Maine  and  California  in  September, 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  and  Indiana  in  October,  gave  majorities 
or  decisive  pluralities  for  the  Democrats.  The  WTiigs  were 
thus  prepared  for  defeat,  but  not  for  the  overwhelming  rout 
which  overtook  them,  when,  at  the  closing  of  the  polls  in 
November,  it  was  found  that  they  had  carried  precisely  four 
States,  —  Massachusetts,  Vermont,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee, 
—  all  the  rest  having  chosen  Pierce  electors,  —  New  York  by 
some  25,000  plurality ;  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Virginia,  &c.,  by 
majorities  equally  conclusive.  True,  the  popular  vote  showed 
no  such  disparity  as  the  electoral ;  but  the  preponderance  ex 
ceeded  200,000  in  an  aggregate  poll  of  about  Three  Millions. 
The  Whig  party  had  been  often  beaten  before ;  this  defeat 
proved  it  practically  defunct,  and  in  an  advanced  stage  of  de 
composition. 


XXXIV. 

THE    SLAVERY    CONTROVERS Y. 

F  AM  naturally  anti-Slavery.  If  Slavery  is  not  wrong^ 
1  then  nothing  is  wrong.  I  cannot  remember  when  I  did 
not  so  think  and  feel."  So  said  Abraham  Lincoln  to  Governor 
Bramlette,  ex-Senator  Dixon,  and  Editor  Hodges,  when  they 
waited  on  him  with  Kentucky's  remonstrance  against  the 
arming  of  Blacks  to  put  down  the  Rebellion,  and  against  the 
Emancipation  policy,  too  tardily  adopted  on  the  part  of  the 
Union. 

I  believe  Mr.  Lincoln  thus  forcibly  gave  expression  to  what 
was  the  very  general  experience  of  American  boys  reared  in 
the  Free  States  forty  to  sixty  years  ago,  while  the  traditions 
and  the  impulses  of  our  Revolutionary  age  were  still  vivid 
and  pervading,  —  at  least,  of  those  trained  by  intelligent  Fed 
eral  mothers.  In  the  South,  it  may  have  been  otherwise ; 
though  nearly  all  the  great  Southrons  of  our  country's  purer 
days,  from  George  Washington  and  Thomas  Jefferson,  down 
to  Henry  Clay,  were  at  least  theoretical  emancipationists.  As 
the  fires  of  the  Revolution  never  burned  so  deeply,  nor  shone 
so  vividly,  in  the  South  as  in  the  North,  it  is  natural  that 
they  should  there  have  sooner  been  stifled,  if  not  extinguished  ; 
yet  I  was  fifteen  years  old  when  the  avowal  of  pro-Slavery 
sentiments  by  a  Northern  Representative  *  in  Congress  called 
forth  an  instant  and  indignant  rebuke  from  several  eminent 
natives  f  and  champions  of  the  South. 

*  Edward  Everett  of  Massachusetts. 

t  Churchill  C.  Cambreleng,  of  North  Carolina  (removed  to  New  York) ; 
J.  C.  Mitchell,  of  Tennessee ;  John  Randolph,  of  Virginia. 


282  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Though  but  a  child  of  seven  to  ten  years,  I  was  an  om 
nivorous  reader  throughout  the  progress  of  the  great  Missouri 
struggle,  and  intensely  sympathized  with  the  North  in  her 
effort  to  prevent  the  admission  of  Missouri  as  a  Slave  State. 
The  defeat  of  that  effort  showed  that  it  had  been  made  too 
late,  —  that  the  North  should  have  insisted  on  the  exclusion 
of  Slavery  from  at  least  her  share  of  Louisiana  immediately 
after  its  purchase  from  France,  or  when  it  came  to  be  organ 
ized  as  a  Territory  (or  Territories)  of  the  Union.  "  Just  as 
the  twig  is  bent  the  tree 's  inclined,"  is  an  axiom  of  the 
widest  scope ;  and  letting  Slavery  (or  any  other  evil)  creep 
into  a  vast  region,  and  there  quietly  establish  and  fortify 
itself,  while  that  region  is  called  a  Territory,  intending  and 
expecting  to  extrude  and  exclude  it  when  said  region  shall 
present  itself  for  recognition  and  admission  as  a  State,  is  a 
manifest  futility.  The  problem  involved  is  neatly  set  forth 
in  the  hackneyed  old  Parliamentary  epigram :  — 

"  I  hear  a  lion  in  the  lobby  roar ; 
Say,  Mr.  Speaker,  shall  we  shut  the  door, 
And  keep  him  out  ?  or  shall  we  let  him  in, 
And  see  if  we  can  turn  him  out  again  ?  " 

Mr.  Jefferson,  in  his  purer,  nobler  days,  —  before  he  became 
the  leader  and  oracle  of  a  great  party  which,  in  spite  of  his 
unconcealed  prepossessions,  gave  him  the  votes  for  President 
of  nearly  all  the  essentially  Slave  States,  and  thenceforth 
leaned  more  and  more  upon  the  Slave  Power  for  support,  so 
long  as  that  Power  had  a  substantial  existence,  —  had  pro 
posed,  and  nearly  carried,  in  the  Continental  Congress  of  1784, 
the  absolute  exclusion  of  Slavery  from  all  the  territory  then 
belonging  to,  or  likely  to  be  acquired  by,  the  old  Confedera 
tion.  The  Revolutionary  War  Was  then  barely  ended;  the 
British  troops  still  held  the  city  of  New  York ;  and  the  acci 
dental  absence  of  a  member  from  New  Jersey  probably  pre 
vented  the  adoption  at  that  time  of  a  policy  which  would 
have  realized  the  hopes  of  our  Revolutionary  heroes  and 
sages,  by  quietly,  gradually  tending  to  and  insuring  the 
peaceful,  bloodless  extirpation  of  Human  Bondage  from  our 


THE  SLAVERY  CONTROVERSY.  283 

country.  To  have  confined  it,  as  Mr.  Jefferson  purposed  and 
proposed,  to  the  existing  States  which  saw  fit  to  maintain  it, 
making  their  bounds  a  limit  beyond  which  it  could  not  pass, 
would  not  have  been  an  expeditious  nor  heroic,  but  would 
have  been  a  cheap,  quiet,  and  certain  mode  of  ridding  the 
country  of  its  most  gigantic  wrong  and  peril.  But  Mr.  Jeffer 
son  was  soon  sent  envoy  to  France,  and  the  next  Congress 
reduced  his  statesmanlike  programme  so  as  merely  to  exclude 
Slavery  from  all  the  territory  then  possessed  by  the  Confed 
eration;  viz.,  the  region  lying  between  the  Ohio  and  the 
Mississippi.  And  when  the  vast,  wild  country  then  known 
as  Louisiana  came  to  be  acquired  from  France,  though  few 
years  had  passed,  and  Mr.  Jefferson  was  then  at  the  zenith  of 
his  power,  no  potent  voice  was  raised  in  favor  of  consecrating 
at  least  its  still  virgin  soil,  or  even  the  Northern  half  of  it,  to 
Free  Labor  forever.  There  is  a  sad  pathos  in  the  simple  Scrip 
tural  narration,  "  Another  king  arose,  who  knew  not  Joseph  "  ; 
but  in  these  faster  ages  we  do  not  need  to  await  the  transfor 
mation  wrought  by  death ;  our  kings  forget,  not  merely  their 
Josephs,  but  whatever  was  best  and  noblest  of  themselves. 

Mr.  Jefferson  having  thus,  in  1784,  proposed,  and  all  but 
carried,  the  exclusion  of  Slavery  absolutely  and  forever  from 
all  the  territory  contained  within  our  National  Boundaries, 
and  not  yet  embraced  within  the  jurisdiction  of  our  thirteen 
States,  though  much  of  it  was  still  the  especial  property  of 
North  Carolina  and  Georgia,  both  Slave  States ;  Congress,  in 
1787,  unanimously  adopted  Mr.  Jefferson's  prohibition,  but 
confined  its  application  to  such  territory  as  had  already  been 
ceded  to,  and  was  then  possessed  by,  the  Confederation.  The 
next  Congress  was  chosen  and  met  under  the  Federal  Con 
stitution  ;  and  this,  without  a  dissenting  voice,  ratified  and 
confirmed  the  prohibition,  as  already  made ;  but  the  Territories, 
soon  thereafter  cut  off  from  North  Carolina  and  Georgia,  to 
be  ultimately  moulded  into  the  States  of  Tennessee,  Alabama, 
and  Mississippi,  were  expressly  shielded,  in  the  acts  or  ordi 
nances  whereby  they  were  ceded,  from  the  operation  of  the 
anti-Slavery  proviso  of  1787,  and  thus  fastened  to  the  car  of 
Bondage. 


284  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

And  thenceforth  no  new  National  effort  was  made  in  the 
right  direction  until  the  Missouri  struggle,  which  resulted  in 
our  defeat  on  the  main  point,  through  the  medium  of  a  Com 
promise;  the  make- weight  being  a  stipulation  that  Slavery 
should  thenceforth  be  excluded  from  all  United  States  terri 
tory  north  of  the  line  of  36°  30'  north  latitude,  —  that  is,  the 
southern  boundary  of  Missouri.  In  other  words,  it  was  agreed 
and  stipulated  that  —  Missouri  being  admitted  as  a  Slave 
State  —  all  our  remaining  territory,  and  consequently  all  our 
States  still  in  embryo,  north  of  the  southern  boundary  of  that 
State,  should  be  evermore  free. 


"After  a  storm  comes  a  calm."  From  1821  to  1835,  or  from 
my  tenth  to  my  twenty-fourth  year,  the  Northern  people  — 
busy,  usually  prosperous,  and  pretty  steadily  increasing  in 
numbers,  wealth,  and  power  —  very  generally  ignored  the  sub 
ject  of  Slavery.  The  convictions  of  that  portion  of  them  who 
may  be  said  to  have  had  any  were  not  materially  changed ; 
but  what  use  in  parading  a  conviction  which  can  have  no 
other  effect  than  that  of  annoying  your  proud  and  powerful 
neighbor  ?  True,  Benjamin  Lundy  had  already  begun  the 
agitation  for  Slavery's  overthrow,  which  William  Lloyd  Gar 
rison  and  others,  during  this  period,  continued  and  methodized ; 
but  the  handful  of  proclaimed,  aggressive  Abolitionists  were 
as  one  to  a  thousand,  even  at  the  North ;  while  none  were 
tolerated  at  the  South.  And,  in  fact,  whatever  of  impunity 
they  enjoyed  throughout  the  greater  portion  of  the  North  was 
accorded  them  rather  through  contempt  for  their  insignificance 
than  willingness  to  let  them  be  heard.  Had  it  been  imagined 
that  the  permanence  of  Slavery  was  endangered  by  their 
efforts,  they  would  scarcely  have  escaped  with  their  lives  from 
any  city  or  considerable  village  wherein  they  attempted  to 
hold  forth :  even  as  it  was,  hootings,  bowlings,  blackguard 
revilings,  rotten  eggs,  stoned  windows,  &c.,  &c.,  were  among 
the  milder  demonstrations  of  repugnance  to  which  they  were 
habitually  subjected. 


THE  SLAVERY  CONTROVERSY.  285 

And,  while  I  could  not  withhold  from  these  agitators  a  cer 
tain  measure  of  sympathy  for  their  great  and  good  object,  I 
was  utterly  unable  to  see  how  their  efforts  tended  to  the 
achievement  of  their  end.  Granted  (most  heartily)  that 
Slavery  ought  to  be  abolished,  how  was  that  consummation  to 
be  effected  by  societies  and  meetings  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  who  owned  no  slaves,  and  had  no  sort  of  control 
over,  or  even  intimacy  with,  those  who  did  ? 

Suppose  the  people  of  Vermont  all  converted  to  Abolition, 
how  was  that,  to  bring  about  the  overthrow  of  Slavery  in 
Georgia  ?  I  could  not  say  nor  see  ;  and  therefore  I  was  never 
a  member  of  any  distinctively  Abolition  society,  and  very 
rarely  found  time  to  attend  an  Abolition  meeting.  Conserva 
tive  by  instinct,  by  tradition,  and  disinclined  to  reject  or  leave 
undone  the  practical  good  within  reach,  while  straining  after 
the  ideal  good  that  was  clearly  unattainable,  I  clung  fondly 
to  the  Whig  party,  and  deprecated  the  Abolition  or  Third 
Party  movement  in  politics,  as  calculated  fatally  to  weaken 
the  only  great  National  organization  which  was  likely  to  op 
pose  an  effective  resistance  to  the  persistent  exactions  and 
aggressions  of  the  Slave  Power.  Hence,  I  for  years  regarded 
with  complacency  the  Colonization  movement,  as  looking  to 
the  establishment  of  a  respectable,  if  not  formidable,  Christian 
republic  on  the  western  coast  of  Africa,  and  vaguely  hoped 
that  a  day  might  ultimately  dawn,  wherein  the  rudely  trans 
planted  children  of  Africa  might  either  be  restored  to  her  soil, 
or  established,  under  a  government  and  flag  of  their  own,  in 
some  tropical  region  of  our  own  continent. 

Two  events,  of  nearly  simultaneous  occurrence,  materially 
modified  these  preconceptions.  One  was  the  irruption  of 
certain  Western  filibusterers,  of  whom  Sam  Houston  may  be 
regarded  as  the  leader  and  type,  into  the  Mexican  province 
of  Texas,  under  the  pretence  of  colonization  and  settlement, 
but  with  deliberate  intent  to  wrest  that  province,  under  the 
pretence  of  a  revolution,  from  its  rightful  owners,  and  then 
annex  it  to  the  United  States  ;  thus  expanding  the  area  and 
enhancing  the  power  of  American  Slavery,  —  a  programme 


286  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

which  was  thoroughly  realized  in  the  course  of  ten  or  twelve 
years. 

It  is  easy  to  sever  the  acts  of  this  drama  so  as  to  ignore 
their  continuity  and  interdependence ;  but  I,  who  read  the 
exulting  anticipations  of  the  end  from  the  beginning,  having 
no  motive  for  self-delusion,  never  affected  it.  In  my  view, 
the  whole  business  was  one  of  gigantic  spoliation,  —  of  naked 
villany,  —  and  its  "  being's  end  and  ayn  "  were  the  aggrandize 
ment  of  the  Slave  Power. 

The  coordinate  event  was  the  martyrdom,  of  Elijah  P. 
Lovejoy,  —  a  young  Congregational  minister,  sent  out  from 
Maine  to  St.  Louis  as  an  evangelist  in  1832,  and  soon  im 
pelled  to  start  in  that  city  an  Orthodox  Protestant  newspaper, 
wherein  Slavery,  like  Intemperance  and  other  social  evils, 
was  treated  as  an  impediment  to  the  spread  and  sway  of  vital 
godliness.  Perhaps  his  aggressive  Protestantism  had  some 
influence  in  arousing  the  resolute,  menacing  opposition  which 
at  length  destroyed  his  establishment,  and  drove  him  from 
the  city  and  the  State.*  At  all  events,  Mr.  Lovejoy  was 
urged,  and  in  effect  compelled,  to  remove  his  establishment  to 
Alton,  Illinois ;  where  he  fondly  trusted  a  religious  journal 
would  be  tolerated,  even  though  it  should  occasionally  expose 
and  reprobate  the  iniquities  necessarily  inherent  in  or  flowing 
from  man-selling  and' man-owning. 

Vain  hope  !  there  is,  there  can  be,  no  Free  State  in  a  nation 
which  allows  its  people  to  be  bought  and  sold,  held  and 
treated,  like  cattle.  Soon,  Mr.  Lovejoy  was  ordered  to  "  move 
on "  ;  and,  failing  to  do  so,  his  press  was  a  second  time  de 
stroyed  by  a  mob.  Again  he  resolved  to  renew  and  refit  his 
establishment ;  and  was  proceeding  to  do  so,  when,  surrounded 
by  a  few  friends,  he  stood  to  arms  for  the  defence  of  his 
property  and  his  right  of  utterance,  at  the  warehouse  where 
his  third  press  had  just  been  landed  from  Cincinnati,  and  was 
shot  deadf  by  one  of  the  pro-Slavery  ruffians,  who  thus  attest 
ed  their  cjevotion  to  the  Union  and  to  "  Southern  Rights." 
And  no  legal  justice  was  ever  meted  out  to  his  murderers,  — 

*  In  May,  1836.  t  November  7,  1837. 


THE  SLAVERY  CONTROVERSY.  287 

no  restitution  made  to  his  bereaved  family  for  his  press  and 
type,  which  constituted  "the  spoils  of  victory."  He  had 
dared,  as  a  Christian  minister,  to  argue  the  incompatibility 
of  Slavery  with  the  Golden  Eule;  and  the  mob  had  dealt 
him  therefor  what  the  messages  of  President  Jackson,  of  Gov 
ernor  Marcy,  &c.,  &c.,  set  forth  as  his  substantial  deserts. 

If  I  had  ever  been  one  of  those  who  sneeringly  asked, "  What 
have  we  of  the  North  to  do  with  Slavery  ? "  the  murder  of 
Lovejoy  would  have  supplied  me  with  a  conclusive  answer.  A 
thousand  flagrant  outrages  had  been,  and  were,  committed  upon 
the  persons  and  property  of  men  and  women  guilty  of  no 
crime  but  that  of  publicly  condemning  Slavery;  but  these 
were  usually  the  work  of  irresponsible  mobs,  acting  under 
some  sort  of  excitement ;  but  Lovejoy  was  deliberately,  sys 
tematically,  hunted  to  his  death,  simply  because  he  would 
not,  in  a  nominally  Free  State,  cease  to  bear  testimony  as  a 
Christian  minister  and  journalist  to  the  essential  iniquity  of 
slaveholding.  It  was  thenceforth  plain  to  my  apprehension, 
that  Slavery  and  true  Freedom  could  not  coexist  on  the  same 
soil.  And  this  conviction  was  deepened  and  strengthened  by 
the  progress  and  issue  of  the  struggle  which  resulted  in  the 
Annexation  of  Texas  and  the  consequent  War  upon  Mexico. 

That  Slavery,  having  thus  extended  her  power  in  and  over 
the  Union,  should  not  reap  a  further  advantage,  through  the 
extension  of  her  sway  over  the  whole  or  any  portion  of  the 
territory  beyond  Texas,  most  unrighteously  wrested  from 
Mexico,  was  my  earnest  resolution.  To  break  the  dangerous 
hold  which  the  Slave  Power  had  already  gained  in  New 
Mexico,  through  the  preposterously  impudent,  but  not  there 
fore  impotent,  claim  of  Texas  to  the  ownership  of  that 
country,  through  the  committal  of  the  Democratic  party,  if 
not  of  the  Federal  Government  also,  to  the  support  of  that 
claim,  through  the  advance  of  General  Taylor,  by  President 
Polk's  express  orders,  to  the  Eio  Grande,  near  Matamoras, 
and  the  consequent  outbreak  of  actual  hostilities,  was  the 
cardinal  point  which  I  kept  steadily  in  view  while  in  Con 
gress,  and  which  moved  me  to  give  a  qualified  support  to 


288  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

so  much  of  Mr.  Clay's  original  programme  of  Compromise  as 
contemplated  the  admission  of  California  and  the  organization 
of  the  remaining  acquisitions  from  Mexico. 

This  general  survey  has  seemed  essential  to  a  clear  com 
prehension  of  the  circumstances  under  which  a  new  and  more 
pervading  excitement  was  aroused  at  the  North  by  the  shape 
ultimately  given  by  Senator  Douglas  to  his  bill  for  the  organ 
ization  of  the  new  Territories  of  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  —  an 
excitement  which  recast  the  great  parties,  and  gave  a  new 
phase  to  our  National  career* 


In  politics,  as  in  nature,  great  events  may  seem  to  result 
from  inadequate  causes,  because  a  long  series  of  preexisting 
causes  are  unnoted  or  ignored.  The  North  gave  a  majority 
of  its  Electoral  votes  to  Polk,  against  Clay,  not  because  of 
the  Texas  issue,  but  in  spite  of  it.  The  more  intelligent, 
considerate,  conscientious  Democrats  did  not  approve  of  the 
proposed  Annexation  of  Texas  under  existing  circumstances ; 
but  they  were  too  intent  on  beating  Mr.  Clay  to  give  much 
thought  or  weight  to  the  Texas  issue ;  and,  beside,  they  were 
able  to  convince  themselves  that  there  was  little  difference 
as  to  Texas  between  Polk  and  Clay.  But,  the  struggle  being 
over,  and  their  ancient  grudge  satisfied,  the  celerity  where 
with  Annexation  was  effected  —  the  election  of  Polk  being 
triumphantly  quoted  as  justifying  and  even  requiring  it  — 
made  a  deep  impression  on  their  minds.  They  could  not  now 
effectually  breast  the  sweeping  current;  but  they  saw,  re 
flected,  and  quietly  bided  their  time.  In  the  Democratic 
triumph  of  1844  was  the  germ  of  future  Democratic  disasters 
and  humiliations. 


XXXV. 

THE    NEW  ERA    IN    POLITICS. 

THE  Presidential  contest  of  1852  had  witnessed  —  if  I 
should  not  rather  say  attested — the  practical  dissolution 
of  the  Whig  party,  —  dissolved  not  by  popular  aversion  to  its 
principles  or  its  leaders,  but  by  the  ever-increasing  and  ulti 
mately  absorbing  importance  acquired  by  questions  to  which 
those  principles  bore  no  direct  relation.  A  majority  of  the 
voters  of  Pennsylvania,  of  Ohio,  of  Maryland,  of  North  Caro 
lina,  Kentucky,  and  several  other  States,  still  agreed  with  the 
Whigs  in  favoring  Protection  to  Home  Industry,  National 
Internal  Improvements,  &c.,  &c. ;  but  other  questions  had  as 
sumed  greater  prominence  or  imminence  in  the  minds  of  many 
of  them ;  and  these,  by  dividing  and  distracting  those  who  had 
been  Whigs,  had  not  merely  overthrown  the  former  Whig 
ascendency,  but  precluded  all  rational  hope  of  its  reestablish- 
ment.  The  veterans  who  had  fought  their  best  campaigns 
under  the  lead  of  Clay,  Harrison,  or  Webster,  might  not  re 
alize  this,  —  might  persist  in  holding  conventions,  framing 
platforms,  nominating  candidates,  and  even  achieving  local 
successes ;  but  the  young,  the  ambitious,  the  unprejudiced, 
had  already  perceived  by  instinct  that  the  party  which  tri 
umphed  in  1840  and  in  1848  —  which  was  barely,  even  if 
fairly,  outnumbered  in  1844  —  was  so  paralyzed  by  divisions 
and  defections  founded  on  new  or  alien  issues,  that  it  could 
hardly  be  expected  ever  to  carry  the  country  again.  And  its 
virtual  dissolution  left  the  ground  open  and  inviting  for  new 
combinations  and  developments. 

The  first  of  these  in  the  order  of  time  was  the  "  American," 

19 


290  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

familiarly  characterized  as  the  "  Know-Nothing,"  movement, 
It  had  its  origin  in  this  city;  where  a  similar,  but  less  vigorous, 
less  formidable,  organization  had  been  effected  in  1843-44, 
as  also  at  an  earlier  day.  It  now  assumed  the  shape  of  a  se 
cret  Order,  hostile  in  profession  to  foreign  domination,  and  in 
effect  to  the  naturalization  of  immigrants  until  after  a  resi 
dence  in  this  .country  of  twenty -one  years,  and  more  especially 
to  Eoman  Catholic  influence  and  ascendency.  Hitherto,  this 
movement  had  been  confined  to  a  few  of  our  great  cities  and 
their  vicinage,  and  had,  after  a  brief  career,  subsided ;  but  now 

fit  pervaded  most  of  our  States,  achieving  temporary  triumphs 

i  in  Kentucky,  Maryland,  and  Delaware,  and  stoutly  battling 
for  ascendency  even  in  Virginia,  as  in  nearly  every  Eastern 
State ;  and  for  a  brief  season  it  seemed  destined  to  sweep  all 
before  it,  and  remodel  our  institutions  into  conformity  with 

^its  ideas.     But  its  apparent  strength  was  largely  factitious, — 
men  of  diverse  parties,  of  radically  incompatible  views  and 
purposes,  using  its  machinery  to  further  their  several  ends, 
and  discarding  it  whenever  such  use  was  precluded  or  defeated. 

/The  fact  that  almost  every  "  Know-Nothing  "  was  at  heart  a 
Whin-  or  a  Democrat,  a  champion  or  an  opponent  of  Slavery, 

I  and  felt  a  stronger,  deeper  interest  in  other  issues  than  in 
those  which  affiliated  him  with  the  "  Order,"  rendered  its  dis 
ruption  and  abandonment  a  question,  not  of  years,  but  of 
months.  It  claimed  to  have  carried  the  Legislature  of  our 

'  State  in  1854 ;  but  that  Legislature  reflected  to  the  Senate 
William  H.  Seward,  who  had  no  sympathy  with  any  of  its 
purposes  ;  it  actually  chose  the  State  officers  elected  in  our 
State  in  1855,  though  it  polled  less  than  three  eighths  of  the 
entire  vote,  —  running  its  candidates  in  between  those  of  the 
Uwo  adverse  parties  ;  but  its  attempt  to  choose  a  President  in 
1856  resulted  in  disastrous  rout ;  the  only  State  carried  by  it 
being  Maryland,  though  Millard  Fillmore  was  its  candidate 
for  President,  with  Andrew  J.  Donelson,  the  nephew  and  heir 
of  General  Jackson,  for  Yice-President.  Thenceforth,  it  dwin 
dled  rapidly,  until  its  members  had  been  fully  absorbed  into  one 
or  the  other  of  the  great  rival  parties  some  four  years  thereafter. 


THE  NEW  ERA  IN  POLITICS.  291 

The  simultaneous  —  in  fact,  concurrent  at  the  outset,  but 
widely  divergent  —  movement  which  has  since  so  deeply  in 
fluenced  our  national  career  had  its  origin  in  the  attempt  to 
organize  the  territories  lying  directly  west  of  the  State  of 
Missouri  and  Iowa,  under  the  name  of  Nebraska.  The  lead 
ing  facts  in  the  premises  are  so  widely  known,  and  have  been 
so  thoroughly  discussed,  that  I  may  pass  over  them  hurriedly ; 
yet  they  excited  so  powerful  an  influence  over  my  own  subse 
quent  course  that  I  cannot  wholly  ignore  them. 

Stephen  Arnold  Douglas,  a  Yermonter  by  birth,  had  made 
Illinois  his  home ;  and,  though  his  education  was  limited,  and 
his  means  moderate,  aspired  to  fortune  and  power  as  a  lawyer 
and  politician.  A  Democratic  candidate  for  Congress  in  1838, 
in  a  district  which  included  the  northern  two  thirds  of  the 
area  of  the  State,  and  now  contains  at  least  1,500,000  inhabi 
tants,  he  was  beaten  68  votes  by  his  Whig  competitor  in  a 
poll  of  36,742,  though  the  Democratic  Governor  had  therein 
a  decided  majority.  But  Mr.  Douglas  evinced  in  the  canvass 
qualities  that  endeared  him  to  his  party,  by  which  he  was 
soon  made  a  judge,  in  a  few  years  chosen  a  Eepresentative  in 
Congress,  and  in  due  course  transferred  to  the  Senate,  where 
he  was  placed  on  the  Committee  on  Territories,  and  in  time 
became  its  Chairman.  As  such,  he  had  already  (at  the  short 
session  of  1852  -  53)  introduced  a  bill  to  organize  the  Territory 
of  Nebraska,  which  Senator  Atchison,  of  western  Missouri, 
had  opposed  and  obstructed,  —  notoriously  in  the  interest  of 
Slavery,  —  the  territory  in  question  having  been  expressly, 
undeniably,  consecrated  to  Free  Labor  by  the  Missouri  Com 
promise  of  1820. 

At  the  next  long  session  of  1853-54,  Mr.  Douglas  rein- 
troduced  his  bill  to  organize  the  territory  in  question ;  and 
now  for  the  first  time  did  he  seek  to  deprecate  the  hostility 
evinced  through  Mr.  Atchison  by  an  intimation  that  the 
Compromise  of  1850  had  superseded  and  annulled  the  inter 
dict  of  1820.  Hereupon,  Mr.  Dixon,  of  Kentucky,  inter 
posed  a  direct  proposition  that  the  interdict  be  repealed  and 
cancelled.  Mr.  Douglas  did  not  at  once  acquiesce,  and  The 


292  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Union  (the  Democratic  organ  at  Washington)  pointedly  de 
nounced  the  Dixon  amendment ;  but  Mr.  Douglas,  after  some 
hesitation,  accepted  it  in  principle,  and  interpolated  it  into 
his  bill,  in  terms  which  declared  "  the  true  intent  and  mean 
ing  "  thereof  to  be  "  neither  to  legislate  Slavery  into  the  ter 
ritory  in  question,  nor  to  exclude  it  therefrom,"  but  to  leave 
the  people  thereof  perfectly  free  to  establish  or  exclude  "  the 
peculiar  institution,"  as  to  them  should  seem  advisable.  And 
President  Pierce,  though  he  at  first  resisted  and  protested, 
was  ultimately  induced  to  sustain  this  proposition,  and  to 
give  a  written  pledge  (as  I  am  well  assured)  that  he  would 
do  so  to  the  end. 

Soon  after  the  bill  had  taken  this  shape,  and  while  the 
North  was  beginning  to  be  aroused  to  resist  it,  I  was  travers 
ing  Ohio;  and,  visiting  either  Newark  or  Lancaster,  I  was 
there  introduced  to  Hon.  Henry  Stanberry,  who,  years  before, 
had  been  an  eminent  representative  in  Congress,  but  was  now 
old  and  retired  from  public  life.  "What  do  you  think  of 
this  Nebraska  bill  ? "  he  eagerly  inquired.  "  I  think  it  bound 
to  pass,"  was  my  response.  "  Ah !  I  see  you  don't  under 
stand  it,"  he  confidently  rejoined :  "  Frank  Pierce  has  had 
this  project  introduced,  in  order  that  he  may  veto  it;  and 
then  nothing  can  prevent  his  reelection."  I  might  have 
assured  Mr.  Stanberry  that  a  Democratic  President  who 
should  lead  his  party  into  such  a  quagmire  for  his  own  per 
sonal  advantage  would  not  be  long  for  this  world ;  but  he 
was  much  older  than  I,  and  I  left  him  firm  in  his  original 
faith. 

I  do  not  propose  to  trace  here  the  history  of  the  Nebraska 
bill,  which  was  at  length  so  modified  by  its  author  as  to  pro 
vide  for  two  distinct  Territories,  —  that  lying  directly  west 
ward  of  Missouri  being  designated  Kansas,  while  the  residue 
of  that  originally  contemplated  became  Nebraska.  In  this 
shape,  it  passed  the  Senate  by  35  Yeas  to  13  Nays,  and  the 
House  by  113  Yeas  to  100  Nays,  —  nine  of  the  latter  from 
Slave  States.  And  thereupon  commenced  a  practical  strug 
gle  between  Freedom  and  Slavery  for  the  possession  of  Kan- 


THE  NEW  ERA  IN  POLITICS.  293 

sas,  which  lasted  down  to  her  final  admission  as  a  Free  State, 
after  the  Southern  representatives  had  abandoned  their  seats 
in  Congress,  in  obedience  to  their  States'  respective  Ordi 
nances  of  Secession. 

As  I  gave,  from  first  to  last,  whatever  of  strength  I  pos 
sessed,  and  of  effort  that  I  was  capable  of  making,  to  the 
work  of  arousing  the  people  of  the  Free  States  to  resist  and 
baffle,  step  by  step,  the  attempt  to  open  to  Slavery  the  region 
already  solemnly  pledged  to  Free  Labor,  I  desire  briefly  to 
set  forth  the  grounds  of  that  resistance  whereon  conservative 
Unionism  and  radical  Anti-Slavery  seemed  to  meet  and 
coincide. 

Slavery,  as  a  local  institution,  was  primarily  the  business 
of  the  States  which  saw  fit  to  uphold  it.  We  of  the  North, 
under  our  Federal  Constitution  as  it  then  stood,  had  the  same 
right  to  deprecate  and  oppose  it  that  we  had  to  oppose  drunk 
enness  in  Canada,  or  polygamy  in  Turkey,  —  no  less,  no  more. 
Only  when  it  transcended  the  limits  of  those  States,  and 
challenged  favor  and  support  as  a  matter  of  National  or  gen 
eral  concern,  did  it  (in  our  view)  expose  itself  to  our  political 
antagonism.  Only  when  it  sought  to  involve  us  in  a  com 
mon  effort,  a  common  responsibility,  with  its  upholders  and 
champions,  did  it  force  us  into  an  attitude  of  active,  deter 
mined  antagonism.  This  view  had  been  succinctly  and  for 
cibly  set  forth,  with  immediate  reference  to  Texas,  so  early  as 
February,  1838,  by  Daniel  Webster,  in  a  speech  at  Niblo's 
Garden,  New  York,  and  was  held  (I  presume)  by  a  large  ma 
jority  of  those  citizens  of  the  Free  States  who  supposed  that 
conscience  and  morality  have  any  business  in  the  sphere  of 
politics. 

Yet  the  rulers  of  opinion  at  the  South  seemed  never  to 
comprehend,  nor  even  to  consider  it.  In  their  view,  whoever 
evinced  repugnance  to  Slavery  anywhere,  under  any  circum 
stances,  was  an  Abolitionist,  and  an  enemy  of  their  section, 
—  a  wanton  aggressor  upon  their  rights.  What  they  in  effect 
required  of  us,  and  what  those  whom  they  heeded  and 
trusted  at  the  North  accorded  them,  was  partnership  in  the 


294  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

extension  and  fortification  of  Slavery  and  the  Slave  Power. 
"True,  we  hold  and  work  the  slaves,"  they  virtually  said; 
"  but  as  much  for  your  profit  as  for  our  own.  You  buy  our 
crops,  and  sell  us  whatever  we  need  or  fancy  in  return.  You 
own  the  vessels  that  fetch  and  carry  for  us ;  you  supply  our 
fabrics,  and  make  a  part  of  them :  help  us  to  diffuse  our  in 
stitution  over  more  territory,  and  we  will  g%row  more  cotton 
and  buy  more  goods,  to  your  satisfaction  and  profit :  Why 
not  ? "  The  answer  given  to  this  question  by  her  Northern 
factors,  servitors,  political  allies,  the  South  heard  and  rejoiced 
in :  the  very  different  response  made  by  the  conscience  of 
the  North,  she  did  not,  because  she  would  not,  hear  and  com 
prehend. 

The  passage  of  the  Nebraska  Bill  wras  a  death-blow  to 
Northern  quietism  arid  complacency,  mistakingly  deeming 
themselves  conservatism.  To  all  who  had  fondly  dreamed  or 
blindly  hoped  that  the  Slavery  question  would  somehow  set 
tle  itself,  it  cried,  "  Sleep  no  more ! "  in  thunder-tones  that 
would  not  die  unheeded.  Concession  and  complacency  were 
plainly  doomed  to  subserve  none  other  than  the  most  tran 
sient  purposes.  Every  new  surrender  on  the  part  of  the 
North  was  seen  to  provoke  a  new  exaction  in  the  name  of  the 
South.  Louisiana,  Missouri,  Texas,  Kansas,  —  the  more  that 
was  conceded,  the  more  was  still  required.  As,  in  the  ascent 
of  a  mountain, 

"  Hills  peep  over  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise," 

so  a  long  vista  of  future  exactions  and  concessions  was 
opened  by  this  latest  and  fullest  triumph  of  aggressive  Slav 
ery.  Systematic,  determined  resistance  was  now  recognized 
as  imperative  duty.  That  resistance  could  only  be  rendered 
effective  through  a  distinct,  compact  political  organization. 
That  organization  was  therefore  resolved  on,  spontaneously 
and  simultaneously,  by  a  million  Northern  firesides.  It  was 
earliest  effected  in  the  West,  but  had  pervaded  nearly  every 
Free  State  before  the  close  of  1854,  and  had  assumed  almost 
everywhere  a  common  designation,  —  that  of  the  Kepublicau 
party. 


XXXVI. 

MY   FARM. 

I  SHOULD  have  been  a  farmer.  All  my  riper  tastes  in 
cline  to  that  blessed  calling  whereby  the  human  family 
and  its  humbler  auxiliaries  are  fed.  Its  quiet,  its  segregation 
from  strife,  and  brawls,  and  heated  rivalries,  attract  and  de 
light  me.  I  hate  to  earn  my  bread  in  any  calling  which 
complicates  my  prosperity  in  some  sort  with  others'  adversity, 
—  my  success  with  others'  defeat.  The  farmer's  floors  may 
groan  with  the  weight  of  his  crops,  yet  no  one  else  deems 
himself  the  poorer  therefor.  He  may  grow  a  hundred  bush 
els  of  corn  or  forty  of  wheat  to  every  arable  acre,  without 
arousing  jealousy  or  inciting  to  detraction. 

I  am  content  with  my  lot,  and  grateful  for  the  generosity 
wherewith  my  labors  have  been  rewarded ;  and  yet  I  say 
that,  were  I  now  to  begin  my  life  anew,  I  would  choose  to 
earn  my  bread  by  cultivating  the  soil.  Blessed  is  he  whose 
day's  exertion  ends  with  the  evening  twilight,  and  who  can 
sleep  unbrokenly  and  without  anxiety  till  the  dawn  awakes 
him,  with  energies  renewed  and  senses  brightened,  to  fresh 
activity  and  that  fulness  of  health  and  vigor  which  are 
vouchsafed  to  those  only  who  spend  most  of  their  waking 
hours  in  the  free,  pure  air  and  renovating  sunshine  of  the 
open  country. 

I  would  have  been  a  farmer,  had  any  science  of  farming 
been  known  to  those  among  whom  my  earlier  boyhood  was 
passed.  We  New-Englanders  supposed  ourselves,  even  then, 
an  educated,  intelligent  people,  and,  relatively  considered, 
were  so :  there  was  no  person  among  us,  over  twelve  years 


296  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

old,  who  had  not  enjoyed  the  privileges  of  common  schools, 
and  learned  therein  to  read,  write,  and  cipher ;  we  all  read 
Looks  and  newspapers,  and  /  read  nearly  all  of  both  that  were 
to  be  found  in  our  neighborhood  ;  yet  I  cannot  remember 
that  I  had  ever  seen  a  periodical  devoted  to  farming,  up  to 
the  day  wherein,  in  my  sixteenth  year,  I  abandoned  the  farm 
for  the  printery.  A  book  treating  of  Agriculture,  or  seeking 
to  set  forth  the  rationale  of  its  processes,  the  natural  laws  on 
which  they  are  based,  I  certainly  had  not  seen.  Nay,  more  : 
during  the  ten  or  twelve  years  in  which  I  attended  school, 
more  or  less,  I  never  saw  a  treatise  on  Chemistry,  Geology, 
or  Botany,  in  a  school-room.  I  hardly  saw  one  anywhere. 
That  true  Agriculture  is  a  grand,  ennobling  science,  based  on 
other  sciences,  and  its  pursuit  a  liberal,  elevating  profession, 
was  not  even  hinted,  much  less  inculcated,  in  any  essay,  speech, 
or  sermon,  any  book,  pamphlet,  or  periodical,  so  far  as  I  then 
knew.  Farming,  as  understood  and  practised  by  those 
among  whom  I  grew  up,  was  a  work  for  oxen ;  and  for  me 
the  life  of  an  ox  had  no  charms.  Most  of  those  I  knew 
seemed  to  till  the  earth  mainly  because  they  could  not  help 
it ;  and  I  felt  that  /  could  help  it.  So  I  shook  from  my  bro- 
gans  the  dust  of  the  potato-patch,  and  stepped  out  in  quest 
of  employment  better  suited  to  an  intelligent,  moral  being. 

It  was  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  this  before  I  felt  able 
to  buy  or  make  the  -farm  whereon  to  abide  the  coming  of 
decay  and  death.  I  had  been  some  twenty  years  a  resident 
of  the  city,  and  fifteen  the  head  of  a  household.  Six  children 
had  been  born  to  me,  and  four  of  them  had  died,  —  as  I  am 
confident  some  of  them  would  not  so  prematurely  have  done, 
had  they  been  born  and  reared  in  the  country. 

I  had  earned  and  bought  a  small  but  satisfactory  house  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  city ;  but  who,  if  he  has  any  choice, 
prefers  to  grow  old  and  die  at  No.  239,  unknown  to,  and  uri- 
cared  for  by,  the  denizens  of  Nos.  237  and  241  ?  For  my 
family's  sake,  if  not  for  my  own,  a  country  home  was  re 
quired  :  so  I  looked  about  and  found  one. 

The  choice  was  substantially  directed  by  my  wife,  who 


MY  FARM.  297 

said  she  insisted  on  but  three  requisites, — 1.  A  peerless  spring 
of  pure,  soft,  living  water ;  2.  A  cascade  or  brawling  brook ; 
3.  Woods  largely  composed  of  evergreens.  These  may  seem 
light  matters  ;  yet  I  was  some  time  in  finding  them  grouped 
on  the  same  small  plat,  within  reasonable  distance  from  the 
city. 

I  did  find  them,  however;  and  those  who  object  to  my 
taste  in  choosing  for  my  home  a  rocky,  wooded  hillside, 
sloping  to  the  north  of  west,  with  a  bog  at  its  foot,  cannot 
judge  me  fairly,  unless  they  consider  the  above  require 
ments. 

My  land  was  previously  the  rugged,  mainly  wooded,  out- 
skirt  of  two  adjacent  farms,  whereof  my  babbling  brook 
formed  the  boundary. 

Nine  miles  above  White  Plains,  and  thirty-five  N.  1ST.  E.  of 
our  City  Hall,  the  Harlem  Eailroad,  when  nearly  abreast  of 
the  village  of  Sing-Sing,  and  six  miles  east  of  it,  just  after 
entering  the  township  of  Newcastle,  crosses  a  quite  small, 
though  pretty  constant,  mill-stream,  named  by  the  Indians 
Chappaqua,  which  is  said  to  have  meant  falling  or  babbling 
water,  and  which,  here  running  to  the  southeast,  soon  takes 
a  southwesterly  turn,  recrosses  under  the  railroad,  and  finds 
its  way  into  the  Hudson,  through  the  Sawmill  or  Nepperhan 
creek,  at  Yonkers.  A  highway,  leading  westward  to  Sing- 
Sing,  crosses  the  railroad,  just  north  of  the  upper  crossing  of 
the  brook,  and  gives  us,  some  twenty  rods  from  the  north 
west  corner  of  my  farm,  a  station  and  a  post-office,  which, 
with  our  modest  village  of  twenty  or  thirty  houses,  take  their 
name  from  our  mill-stream.  Chappaqua  is  not  a  very  liquid 
trisyllable,  but  there  is  comfort  in  the  fact  that  it  is  neither 
Clinton,  nor  Washington,  nor  Middletown,  nor  any  of  the 
trite  appellations  which  have  been  so  often  reapplied,  that 
half  the  letters  intended  for  one  of  them  are  likely  to  bring 
up  at  some  other.  (How  can  a  rational  creature  be  so 
thoughtless  as  to  date  his  letter  merely  "  Greenfield,"  or  "  Jack 
son,"  or  "  Springfield,"  and  imagine  that  the  stranger  he  ad 
dresses  can  possibly  guess  whither  to  mail  the  answer  ?) 


298  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

My  brook  has  its  source  in  wooded,  granite  hills,  on  the 
east  southeast,  and  comes  tinkling  or  brawling  thence  to  be 
lost  in  the  Chappaqua,  a  few  rods  south  of  the  road  to  Pleas- 
antville,  which  forms  my  southwestern  boundary.  As  to 
springs,  there  are  not  less  than  a  dozen,  which  no  drouth 
exhausts,  breaking  out  along  the  foot  of  my  hill,  or  at  the 
base  of  a  higher  ridge  which  forms  its  crest. 

My  woods  are  the  pride  of  the  farm,  which  without  them 
would  never  have  been  my  farm.  They  cover  about  twenty- 
five  of  the  seventy-five  acres  which  compose  it ;  and  I  say  to 
them,  with  Oriental  courtesy,  and  more  than  Oriental  sincerity, 
"  May  your  shadow  never  be  less ! "  For  the  ground  they 
cover  is  in  good  part  an  irregular,  sideling  granite  ledge,  or 
portions  of  a  ledge,  thinly  covered  by  a  granitic,  gravelly  soil, 
which  could  not  be  made  to  grow  anything  but  wood  to  the 
profit  of  the  grower ;  whereas,  it  grows  wood  better  than  a  rich 
Illinois  or  Kansas  prairie  often  condescends  to  do.  Its  trees 
are  mainly  Hemlock  and  Red  Cedar  (my  evergreens),  White 
and  Eed  Oak,  Whitewood,  Chestnut,  White  and  Blue  Beech, 
Dogwood,  White  Ash,  Sugar  and  Soft  Maple,  Elm,  Hickory, 
Tulip,  Butternut,  Black,  Yellow,  and  White  Birch.  There  were 
just  two  trees  that  I  could  not  name,  after  twenty  years'  absorp 
tion  in  the  city ;  one  of  them  is  known  as  Pepperidge,  the 
other  as  Yellow  Poplar.  There  were  a  good  many  wild  Black 
Cherries ;  but  these  I  have  nearly  exterminated,  as  they  bred 
caterpillars  to  infest  my  Apple-trees.  Of  shrubs,  there  are 
many  that  I  cannot  name.  Witch  Hazel,  Bunch  WTillow, 
Choke  Cherry,  Hazel,  Sassafras,  and  Sumac,  are  among  those 
that  I  readily  recognized.  Swamp  Alder  infested  the  springy, 
rocky,  boggy  ground  at  the  foot  of  one  of  my  hills,  till  I  extir 
pated  it,  and  the  Dogwood  is  marked  for  speedy  destruction. 
It  beautifies  —  nay,  glorifies  —  the  woods  while  in  blossom  for 
a  week  or  so  early  in  May ;  but  it  is  of  no  account  as  timber, 
while  it  sows  its  seed  everywhere,  and  tends  to  monopolize 
a  good  deal  more  ground  than  it  will  pay  for. 

My  first  care,  on  getting  possession  of  my  farm,  was  to 
shut  cattle  out  of  the  greater  part  of  the  woods,  where  they 


MY  FARM.  299 

had  been  free  to  roam  and  ravage  throughout  the  two  prece 
ding  centuries  that  this  region  had  felt  the  presence  of  civi 
lized  man.  Pasturing  woods  is  one  of  the  most  glaring  vices 
of  our  semi-barbarian  agriculture.  Cattle  browse  the  tender 
twigs  of  delicate,  valuable  young  trees,  while  they  leave  the 
coarse  and  worthless  unscathed.  I  have,  to-day,  ten  times  as 
many  of  the  Sugar  Maple,  White  Ash,  etc.,  coming  on  in  my 
woods  as  there  were  when  I  bought  and  shut  the  cattle  out 
of  them. 

I  have  no  blind  horror  of  cutting  trees.  Any  fairly  grown 
forest  can  always  spare  trees,  and  be  benefited  by  their  re 
moval.  But  I  protest  most  earnestly  against  the  reckless 
waste  involved  in  cutting  off  and  burning  over  our  forests. 
In  regions  which  are  all  woods,  ground  must  of  course  be 
cleared  for  cultivation ;  but  many  a  farmer  goes  on  slashing 
and  burning  long  after  he  should  halt  and  begin  to  be  saving 
of  his  timber.  Many  of  our  dairymen  are  beginning  to  say, 
"  Down  with  the  rest  of  our  woods  !  we  can  buy  all  the  coal 
we  need  for  fuel,  with  half  the  butter  and  cheese  we  can 
make  on  our  lands  now  covered  with  wood."  Friends,  that 
is  a  sad  miscalculation.  With  one  fourth  of  your  land  in 
wood,  judiciously  covering  the  crests  of  your  ridges,  the  sides 
of  your  ravines,  your  farms  will  grow  more  grass  than  if 
wholly  denuded  and  laid  bare  to  the  scorching  sun.  Pro 
tracted,  desolating  drouths,  bleak,  scathing  winds,  and  the 
failure  of  delicate  fruits  like  the  Peach  and  finer  Pears,  are 
part  of  the  penalty  we  pay  for  depriving  our  fields  and  gar 
dens  of  the  genial,  hospitable  protection  of  forests. 

Of  tree-planting,  other  than  for  fruit,  I  have  as  yet  done 
little.  A  row  of  Rock  Maples  along  the  highways  that  skirt 
my  farm,  and  a  clump  of  evergreens  just  north  of  my  garden, 
are  nearly  all  I  have  to  show.  Any  one  can  grow  Sugar 
Maples  who  will  try.  To  prove  it,  I  need  only  say  that  I 
have  lost  but  two  in  over  a  hundred,  and  these  by  accident, 
though  my  trees  mainly  came  from  Eochester,  were  opened 
on  a  warm,  sunny  day,  and  left  thus  with  their  roots  exposed 
till  thoroughly  dry.  I  came  upon  the  planter  just  then, 


300 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 


and  told  him  he  had  killed  the  trees ;  but  I  was  mistaken. 
I  would,  however,  advise  no  one  to  try  the  experiment  of 
drying  the  roots  of  trees  while  transplanting  them ;  but,  if  he 
will  be  so  careless,  he  may  better  take  the  risk  on  the  Sugar 
Maple  than  on  any  other  tree  within  my  knowledge. 

As  there  is  a  stout  hill  just  south  of  my  farm,  my  lower 
land  is  overshadowed  by  hills  in  the  two  wrong  directions, 
and  so  inclines  to  be  cold.  Just  north  of  where  my  brook 
dances  out  of  the  glen  which  it  has  worn  down  the  face  of 


My  Clump  of  Evergreens. 

the  hill  is  my  garden,  with  a  slight  elevation  or  ridge  just 
north  of  it. 

This  low  ridge  I  have  planted  with  evergreens,  as  a  shel 
ter  or  wind-break  for  the  garden.  Part  of  them  are  Hemlocks 
and  Bed  Cedars,  transplanted  from  the  woods  just  at  hand ; 
perhaps  as  many  are  Norway  and  other  Pines,  with  Balsam 
and  other  Firs,  obtained  from  nurseries.  These  latter  have 


MY  FARM.  301 

the  more  luxuriant  growth,  but  all  have  done  well ;  and  the 
copse  or  clump — possibly  forty  rods  in  length  by  three  or  four 
in  width — is  (at  least  in  Winter)  the  pleasantest  object  seen 
on  the  farm.  The  little  greenhouse  which  nestles  beneath  it 
is  flanked  by  strawberry  beds,  a  few  grape-vines,  and  room  for 
early  vegetables,  which,  sloping  gently  southward,  enjoy  an 
average  temperature  several  degrees  higher  than  they  would  if 
the  evergreens  were  away  ;  and  the  acre  or  so  of  level  garden 
farther  south  is  also,  but  less  considerably,  warmed  and  shel 
tered  by  this  belt  of  evergreens,  which  not  only  verifies  Shel 
ley's  apothegm,  that  "  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever,"  but 
is  a  positive  reinforcement  to  the  productive  capacity  of  the 
farm. 

I  hope  this  narration  will  induce  some  —  I  wish  it  might 
induce  many  —  to  plant  trees,  and  especially  evergreens. 
Not  merely  as  ornamental  drapery  to  dwellings,  but  as  molli- 
fiers  of  the  harshness  of  our  capricious  climate,  they  have  a 
value  as  yet  too  narrowly  appreciated.  A  few  choice  trees, 
just  old  enough  to  transplant,  cost  but  a  trifle ;  and  whoever 
plants  a  dozen  such  judiciously,  and  shields  them  from  in 
jury,  has  provided  a  source  of  healthful  enjoyment,  not  only 
for  his  own  lifetime,  but  for  that  of  generations  yet  to  be. 

But  we  need  tree-planting  on  a  broader  scale  than  this. 
Wherever  a  ledge  or  giant  rock  impedes  thorough  tillage,  there 
should  be  a  tree,  if  not  trees.  Men  of  means  and  of  thrift 
should  buy  up  sterile  tracts  that  are  offered  for  sale  at  low 
rates,  and  promptly  cover  them  with  Wliite  Oak,  Hickory, 
White  Pine,  Locust,  Chestnut,  &c.  They  can  no  otherwise  so 
safely  and  profitably  invest  their  means  for  the  benefit  of 
their  children,  while  benefiting  also  future  generations.  Tim 
ber  grows  steadily  dearer  and  dearer ;  streams  become  desolat 
ing  torrents  at  intervals,  and  beds  of  dry  sand  and  pebbles 
for  weeks  in  Summer  and  Fall,  because  our  hills  have  been 
too  generally  stripped  and  denuded  of  trees.  Let  us  unitedly 
cease  to  do  evil  and  learn  to  do  well  in  relation  to  trees. 


XXXVII. 

MY    FARMING. 

THOSE  who  have  read  my  account  of  my  farm  will  have 
judged  that  it  is  not  well  calculated  to  enrich  its  owner 
by  large,  easily  produced  crops,  and  that  it  was  bought  in  full 
view  of  this  fact.  I  wanted  a  place  near  a  railroad  station, 
and  not  too  far  from  the  city;  my  wife  wanted  pure  air, 
agreeable  scenery,  reasonable  seclusion,  but,  above  all,  a 
choice,  never-failing  spring,  a  cascade,  and  evergreen  woods, 
as  I  have  already  stated.  Having  found  these  on  the  thirty- 
odd  acres  which  comprised  our  original  purchase,  we  were 
not  so  unreasonable  as  to  expect  to  secure  also  the  fertility 
and  facility  of  a  dry,  gently  rolling  Western  prairie,  or  of  a 
rich  intervale  of  the  Connecticut  or  Hudson.  We  knew  that 
our  upland  was  in  good  part  hard,  steep,  and  rocky,  and  that 
its  productive  capacity  —  never  remarkable  —  had  been  largely 
reduced  by  two  centuries  of  persistent  and  often  excessive 
pasturing.  Sheep  may  thus  be  fed  a  thousand  years,  yet  re 
turn  to  the  soil  nearly  as  much  as  they  take  from  it ;  not  so 
with  milch  cows,  when  their  milk  is  sent  away  to  some  city, 
and  nothing  returned  therefor  that  enriches  the  fields  whence 
that  milk,  in  the  shape  of  grass  or  hay,  was  drawn.  And  so, 
measurably,  of  Fruit :  whereas  Apples  have  long  been  a  lead 
ing  staple  of  our  region,  —  Newcastle  having  formerly  boasted 
more  Apple-trees  than  any  township  of  its  size  in  America. 
But  an  Apple-tree  cannot  forever  draw  on  the  bank  of  Mature 
without  having  its  drafts  protested,  if  nothing  is  ever  depos 
ited  there  to  its  credit ;  and  caterpillars  have  so  long  been 
allowed  to  strip  most  of  our  trees  unresisted,  that  many  have 


MY  FARMING.  303 

grown  prematurely  old  and  moss-covered.  One  year  with 
another,  Newcastle  does  not  grow  half  so  many  Apples  as  her 
trees  call  for;  and  she  never  will  till  she  feeds  her  trees  bet 
ter  and  fights  their  enemies  with  more  persistent  resolution 
than  she  has  done.  I  have  seen  five  thousand  of  those  trees, 
in  the  course  of  a  brief  morning  ride  in  June,  with  more 
caterpillars  than  remaining  leaves  per  tree;  and  very  little 
reflection  can  be  needed  to  show  that  trees  so  neglected  for  a 
few  years  will  have  outlived  their  usefulness. 

The  woods  are  my  special  department.  Whenever  I  can 
save  a  Saturday  for  the  farm,  I  try  to  give  a  good  part  of  it 
to  my  patch  of  forest.  The  axe  is  the  healthiest  imple 
ment  that  man  ever  handled,  and  is  especially  so  for  habitual 
writers  and  other  sedentary  workers,  whose  shoulders  it 
throws  back,  expanding  their  chests,  and  opening  their 
lungs.  If  every  youth  and  man,  from  fifteen  to  fifty  years 
old,  could  wield  an  axe  two  hours  per  day,  dyspepsia  would 
vanish  from  the  earth,  and  rheumatism  become  decidedly 
scarce.  I  am  a  poor  chopper ;  yet  the  axe  is  my  doctor  and 
delight.  Its  use  gives  the  mind  just  enough  occupation  to 
prevent  its  falling  into  revery  or  absorbing  trains  of  thought, 
while  every  muscle  in  the  body  receives  sufficient,  yet  not 
exhausting,  exercise.  I  wish  all  our  boys  would  learn  to  love 
the  axe. 

I  began  by  cutting  out  the  Witch  Hazels,  and  other  trash 
not  worth  keeping,  and  trimming  up  my  trees,  especially  the 
Hemlocks,  which  grow  limbs  clear  to  the  ground,  and  throw 
them  out  horizontally  to  such  a  distance  that  several  rods  of 
ground  are  sometimes  monopolized  by  a  single  tree.  Many  of 
these  lower  limbs  die  in  the  course  of  time,  but  do  not  fall  off ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  harden  and  sharpen  into  spikes,  which 
threaten  your  face  and  eyes  as  if  they  were  bayonets.  These 
I  have  gradually  cut  away  and  transformed  into  fuel.  Many 
of  my  Hemlocks  I  have  trimmed  to  a  height  of  at  least  fifty 
feet ;  and  I  mean  to  serve  many  others  just  so,  if  I  can  ever 
find  time  before  old  age  compels  me  to  stop  climbing. 

But  the  Hemlock  so  bristles  throughout  with  limbs  that  it 


304  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

can  easily  be  climbed  by  a  hale  man  till  lie  is  seventy ;  and, 
working  with  a  hatchet  or  light  axe,  you  commence  trimming 
at  the  top,  —  that  is,  as  high  as  you  choose  to  trim,  —  and, 
without  difficulty,  cut  all  smooth  as  you  work  your  way  down. 
Limbs  to  the  ground  may  be  graceful  in  the  edge  of  your 
wood ;  but  your  tree  will  not  make  timber  nearly  so  fast  as 
if  trimmed,  and  you  cannot  afford  it  so  much  space  as  it 
claims  in  the  heart  of  your  patch  of  forest. 

If  I  linger  proudly  among  my  trees,  consider  that  here  most 
of  my  farm- work  has  been  done,  and  here  my  profit  has  been 
realized,  in  the  shape  of  health  and  vigor.  When  I  am  asked 
the  usual  question,  "  How  has  your  farming  paid  ? "  I  can 
truthfully  answer  that  my  part  of  it  has  paid  splendidly,  be 
ing  all  income  and  no  outgo,  —  and  who  can  show  a  better 
balance-sheet  than  that  ? 

Seriously  —  I  believe  there  is  money  to  be  made  by  judi 
cious  tree-planting  and  forest-culture,  now  that  railroads  have 
so  greatly  cheapened  the  cost  of  transportation.  If  any  man 
has  or  can  buy  a  tract  of  woodland,  or  land  too  poor  or 
broken  to  be  profitably  tilled,  let  him  shut  out  cattle,  and 
steadily  plant  choice  trees  while  cutting  out  poorer ;  let  him 
cut  every  tree  that  stops  growing  and  begins  to  decay,  or  shed 
its  limbs  ;  let  him  not  hesitate  to  thin  as  well  as  trim  up ;  let 
him  cut  out  Eed  Oak,  for  instance,  and  sow  the  acorns  of 
White ;  let  him,  when  half  a  dozen  or  more  sprouts  start  from 
a  single  stump,  cut  away  all  but  two  or  three,  and  by  and  by 
cut  again ;  and  I  am  confident  that  he  may  thus  grow  timber 
twice  as  rapidly  as  where  it  is  neglected,  and  grow  trees  far 
more  valuable  than  those  that  come  by  chance.  Nay:  if 
near  a  city,  he  can  make  a  thousand  dollars  far  more  easily, 
though  less  quickly,  by  growing  Timber  than  by  'growing 
Grain. 

The  land  I  ultimately  bought  included  part  of  an  old  or 
chard,  which  I  estimated  worth  a  little  more  than  the  fire 
wood  that  might  be  made  of  it ;  but  there  I  was  mistaken. 
Old  Apple-trees,  never  grafted,  or  grafted  with  indifferent 


MY  FARMING.  305 

fruit,  and  which  have  been  suffered  to  grow  out  of  proper 
shape  to  a  height  of  forty  or  fifty  feet,  so  that  caterpillars 
nourish  in  their  tops  with  impunity,  are  simply  nuisances. 
If  you  buy  or  inherit  such,  cut  them  down  remorselessly 
the  moment  you  can  obtain  fruit  for  your  own  use  from 
others. 

On  the  land  I  first  purchased  was  a  young  orchard  of  two 
acres,  mainly  Eussets,  —  small  fruit,  but  not  inviting  to 
worms,  while  it  keeps  splendidly,  —  in  fact,  hardly  becomes 
eatable  till  April  or  May.  The  Eusset  yields  bounteously 
and  pretty  constantly ;  so  that,  if  I  were  planting  for  profit 
in  this  region,  I  should  give  this  sort  the  preference.  I 
should  carefully  avoid  the  common  error  (which  I,  when 
greener,  committed)  of  planting  many  sorts  together ;  indeed, 
I  would  prefer  to  have  but  one  sort  in  an  orchard,  for  the 
convenience  of  gathering  and  marketing. 

My  young  orchards  are  just  fairly  beginning  to  bear.  The 
ground  was  not  ploughed  so  deeply  as  it  should  be,  —  in  fact, 
the  ground  on  which  Apple-trees  are  to  be  set  should  be 
trenched  three  feet  deep,  —  but  it  has  been  well  fertilized ;  and 
I  hope  for  good  crops  in  the  years  close  at  hand. 

In  the  little  dell  or  glen  through  which  my  brook  emerges 
from  the  wood  wherein  it  has  brawled  down  the  hill,  to  dance 
across  a  gentle  slope  to  the  swamp  below,  is  the  spring,  — 
pure  as  crystal,  never-failing,  cold  as  you  could  wish  it  for 
drink  in  the  hottest  day,  and  so  thoroughly  shaded  and  shel 
tered  that,  I  am  confident,  it  was  never  warm  and  never 
frozen  over.  Many  springs  on  my  farm  are  excellent,  but 
this  is  peerless.  It  determined  the  location  of  my  house, 
which  stands  on  a  little  plateau  or  bench  of  level  ground  half 
way  down  the  hill,  some  twenty  rods  north  of,  and  forty  feet 
higher  than,  itself.  I  never  saw  a  sweeter  spot  than  was 
the  little  plat  of  grass  which  my  house  has  supplanted,  with 
tall  woods  all  around,  and  a  thrifty  growth  of  young  hem 
locks  starting  thickly  just  west  and  south  of  it.  I  do  not 
now  regard  this  as  a  judicious  location  :  it  is  too  much  shaded 
and  shut  in;  it  is  too  damp  for  health  in  a  wet  time;  it 

20 


306  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

tempts  the  chimney  to  smoke,  especially  when  the  atmos 
phere  is  so  heavy  that  the  wind  beats  down  over  the  wooded 
hill  that  rises  directly  on  the  north  and  east ;  but  the  hottest 
day  is  cool  here ;  dust  is  unknown ;  and  no  rumble  from  any 
highway  disturbs  meditation  or  piques  curiosity.  My  house 
is  not  much,  —  hastily  erected,  small,  slight,  and  wooden,  it 
has  at  length  been  almost  deserted  for  one  recently  purchased 
and  refitted  on  the  edge  of  the  village,  just  where  my  private 
road  emerges  from  the  farm,  on  its  way  to  the  station ;  but 
the  cottage  in  the  woods  is  still  my  house,  where  my  books 
remain,  where  I  mean  to  garner  my  treasures,  and  wherein  I 
propose  to  be  "  at  home  "  to  my  friends  at  stated  seasons,  and 
"  not  at  home "  to  any  one  when  I  address  myself  to  work, 
and  especially  to  the  consummation  of  a  yet  unaired  literary 
project.  But  these  are  dreams,  which  opportunity  may  never 
be  afforded  to  realize.  As  yet,  I  am  a  horse  in  a  bark-mill, 
and  tread  his  monotonous  round;  never  finding  time  to  do 
to-day  what  can  possibly  be  postponed  to  the  morrow. 

The  woodless  portion  of  my  upland  has  been  patiently  im 
proved  by  digging,  blasting,  and  picking  out  rock  and  stone, 
by  running  under-drains  where  they  seemed  to  be  needed,  by 
ploughing  deeper  than  it  was  ever  ploughed  before,  though 
not  yet  nearly  deep  enough,  and  by  persistent  fertilizing  with 
composted  swamp  muck,  lime,  salt,  gypsum,  bone-dust,  and 
artificial,  as  well  as  mineral,  manures,  until  it  is  to-day  in  very 
fair  condition,  or  only  needs  deepening  six  to  twelve  inches 
more  to  make  it  so.  Already,  it  produces  almost  unfailingly 
good  crops  of  Indian  Com,  Oats,  Turnips,  and  especially  of 
Grass.  I  have  repeatedly  grown  fair  crops  of  Wheat,  especially 
of  Spring,  and  never  decidedly  failed  but  once.  Most  of  our 
lands  that  have  long  been  devoted  to  the  production  of  milk 
are  in  special  need  of  phosphates,  which  are  most  readily 
supplied  in  the  shape  of  ground  bones,  —  the  finer  the  better. 
With  land  in  proper  condition,  Wheat  is  as  sure  a  crop  in 
Southern  New  York  as  in  Wisconsin  or  Minnesota.  Koots 
have  generally  done  well  with  me  on  ground  properly  pre 
pared  ;  but  the  Potato  is  an  exception ;  and  I  doubt  that  it 


MY  FARMING.  307 

will  hereafter  produce  so  plenteously  on  our  seaboard  as  on 
the  breezy  slopes  of  the  Green  Mountains,  the  Catskills,  or  of 
our  high  inland  counties  like  Madison  or  Steuben. 

My  swamp  (whereof  successive  purchases  have  increased 
the  area  to  fully  twenty  acres)  has  been  my  chief  difficulty. 
Originally,  a  muddy,  oozy  fen,  thickly  dotted  with  "  hassocks  " 
or  "  tussocks  "  of  coarse  bog-grass,  I  have  cut  these  and  (tired 
of  awaiting  their  natural  decay)  burned  them  to  fertilizing- 
ashes  for  my  upland ;  have  seamed  the  entire  flat  with  under- 
drains ;  have  cut  down  the  little  runnel  that  permeated  its 
centre,  and  the  open  ditch  that  for  some  distance  ran  parallel 
to  it  on  the  east,  collecting  the  waters  of  a  dozen  springs, 
obliged  to  join  it  ere  it  was  lost  in  my  brook,  that  comes 
brawling  down  my  hillside,  and  have  spared  no  effort,  grudged 
no  cost,  to  render  it  completely  arable.  But  the  fall  is  so 
slight,  not  only  on  my  own  land,  but  for  nearly  a  mile  below 
it,  that  my  success  is  still  partial  and  unsatisfactory.  Though 
I  have  been  allowed  to  straighten,  as  well  as  deepen,  the 
brook  on  my  neighbors'  land,  below  me,  I  am  still  flooded  at 
intervals  with  back-water,  which  chokes  my  drains  and 
threatens  to  inundate  my  fattest  acres.  If  I  live,  I  shall 
surely  triumph  in  the  end ;  and  I  am  now  profiting  by  the 
engineering  of  Mr.  James  Gall,  whose  experience  in  the  Cen 
tral  (New  York)  and  Prospect  (Brooklyn)  Parks  is  of  decided 
value.  But  a  good  outlet,  or  fall,  is  so  essential  to  easy  suc 
cess  in  draining,  that  every  one  who  shall  hereafter  attempt 
to  drain  a  swamp  ought  to  begin  with  this,  and  be  sure  of  at 
least  two  feet  fall  from  his  lowest  point  at  flood-time  in 
Spring  before  he  cuts  his  first  drain.  Of  all  unprofitable 
work,  burying  tiles  where  water  will  run  sometimes  one  way, 
sometimes  the  other,  until  they  choke  with  mud  and  become 
utterly  useless,  is  most  discouraging.  But  thorough  under- 
draining  is  the  basis  of  all  lasting  improvement  in  farm  or 
garden  culture;  and  we  should  either  drain  our  swamps 
thoroughly,  or  provide  for  flooding  them  in  Winter  and  lay 
them  down  to  cranberries.  I  do  not  doubt  that  this  latter 
is  in  many  cases  the  wiser  disposition,  except  where  the 


308 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 


vicinity  of  a  city  or  village  forbids  it,  from  due  regard  to 
others'  health.  But  my  swamp  is  close  by  a  hamlet  which 
is  soon  to  be  quite  a  village  :  so  it  must  and  shall  be  drained  ; 
and,  that  thoroughly  done,  it  will  be  cheap  at  five  hundred 
dollars  per  acre,  since  it  needs  little  lut  draining  to  assimilate 
it  in  fertility  to  a  patch  of  Western  prairie.  If  I  live,  it  shall 
yet  come  to. 


My  Barn. 

My  barn  is  a  fair  success.  I  placed  it  on  the  shelf  of  my 
hill,  nearest  to  the  upper  (east)  side  of  my  place,  because  a 
barn-yard  is  a  manufactory  of  heavy  fertilizers  from  materials 
of  lesser  weight ;  and  it  is  easier  to  draw  these  down  hill  than 
up.  I  built  its  walls  wholly  of  stones  gathered  or  blasted 
from  the  adjacent  slope,  to  the  extent  of  four  or  five  thousand 
tons,  and  laid  in  a  box  with  a  thin  mortar  of  (little)  lime  and 
(much)  sand,  filling  all  the  interstices  and  binding  the  whole 
into  a  solid  mass,  till  my  walls  are  nearly  one  solid  rock, 


MY  FARMING.  309 

while  the  roof  is  of  Vermont  slate.  I  drive  into  three  stories, 
—  a  basement  for  manures,  a  stable  for  animals,  and  a  story 
above  this  for  hay — while  grain  is  pitched  into  the  loft  or 
"  scaffold "  above,  from  whose  floor  the  roof  rises  steep  to  a 
height  of  sixteen  to  eighteen  feet.  There  should  have  been 
more  windows  for  light  and  air ;  but  my  barn  is  convenient, 
while  impervious  to  frost,  and  I  am  confident  that  cattle  are 
wintered  in  it  at  a  fourth  less  cost  than  when  they  shiver 
in  board  shanties,  with  cracks  between  the  boards  that 
will  admit  your  hand.  No  part  of  our  rural  economy  is 
more  wasteful  than  the  habitual  exposure  of  our  animals  to 
pelting,  chilling  storms,  and  to  intense  cold.  Building  with 
concrete  is  still  a  novelty,  and  was  far  more  so  ten  years  ago, 
when  I  built  my  barn.  I  could  now  build  better  and  cheaper ; 
but  I  am  glad  that  I  need  not.  I  calculate  that  this  barn 
will  be  abidingly  useful  long  after  I  shall  have  been  utterly 
forgotten ;  and  that,  had  I  chosen  to  have  my  name  lettered 
on  its  front,  it  would  have  remained  there  to  honor  me  as  a 
builder,  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  have  any  other  signifi 
cance. 


"You  will  be  sick  of  living  in  the  country  within  two 
years,"  I  was  confidently  told  when  I  bought;  "and  your 
place  will  be  advertised  for  sale."  "  Then  the  sheriff's  name 
will  be  at  the  foot  of  the  advertisement,"  I  responded.  The 
mere  fact  that  /  am  not  yet  sick  of  it  proves  nothing,  since  I 
only  try  to  spend  Saturdays  upon  it,  and  am  often  unable  to 
do  even  that ;  but  my  wife,  who  spends  most  of  each  year 
there,  and  has  done  so  ever  since  it  was  bought,  is  equally 
constant  in  her  devotion ;  and  the  bare  idea  of  exchanging 
our  place  for  any  other  has  never  yet  suggested  itself  to  either 
of  us.  With  a  first-rate  stone  or  brick  house  to  shut  out  the 
cold,  I  doubt  if  either  of  us  would,  of  choice,  live  elsewhere, 
even  in  Winter.  For,  while  the  young  may  love  to  wander, 
and  may  feel  that  they  enjoy  the  fragrance  of  others'  flowers, 
the  stately  grace  of  their  woods,  I  think  we  all,  as  we  grow 
old,  love  to  feel  and  know  that  some  spot  of  earth  is  pecu- 


310  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

liarly  our  own,  —  ours  to  possess  and  to  enjoy,  —  ours  to 
improve  and  to  transmit  to  our  children.  As  we  realize  the 
steady  march  of  years  in  the  thinning  of  our  blanched  locks, 
the  deepening  of  our  wrinkles,  we  more  and  more  incline  to 
shun  travel  and  crowds  and  novelties,  and  concentrate  our 
affections  on  the  few  who  are  infolded  by  "  that  dear  hut,  our 
home." 


"  But  what  of  the  profits  of  your  farming  ?  You  have  said 
nothing  of  them"  I  often  hear.  Well :  it  is  not  yet  time  to 
speak  of  them,  —  in  fact,  they  are,  as  yet,  unspeakably  small. 
Thus  far,  I  have  been  making  a  farm,  rather  than  working 
one ;  and  the  process  is  not  yet  complete.  The  first  Apple- 
trees  of  my  planting,  are  just  beginning  to  bear ;  my  best  land, 
having  been  recently  bought,  and  as  yet  imperfectly  drained, 
is  still  unproductive.  Nor  do  I  expect  that  farming  —  or 
anything  else  —  will  pay  without  better  oversight  than  I  have 
yet  been  able  to  accord  it. 

"Do  you  not  perceive,"  said  one  near  to  me,  "that  your 
man  there  does  not  more  than  half  work  ? "  "  Certainly,"  I 
replied ;  "  I  am  quite  aware  of  it.  Were  he  disposed  to  be 
efficient,  he  would  work  his  own  land,  not  mine."  You  can 
scarcely  hire  any  work  well  done,  to  which  you  cannot  give 
personal  attention.  Publishing  newspapers  by  proxy  would 
be  still  more  ruinous  than  farming. 

But  I  close  with  a  confident  assertion  that  good  farming 
WILL  pay  —  yes,  does  pay  —  right  here  by  New  York,  —  pay 
generally,  and  pay  well.  Of  course,  he  who  lacks  capital 
must  work  to  disadvantage  in  this  as  in  everything  else ;  and 
a  little  capital  will  go  further  in  the  Far  West  than  on  the 
crowded  seaboard ;  but  I  feel  certain  that  even  /  could  make 
money  by  farming  in  Westchester  County,  if  I  could  give  my 
time  and  mind  to  it ;  and  that  a  good  farmer,  with  adequate 
means,  can,  in  following  his  vocation,  do  as  well  near  this  city 
as  a  reasonable  man  could  expect,  or  wisely  desire. 


XXXVIII. 

"SEWARD,   WEED,   AND   GREELEY." 

AS  I  had  first  engaged  conspicuously  in  political  strife  at 
the  invitation  of  Mr.  Thurlow  Weed,  and  had  thus  been 
brought,  very  soon  afterward,  into  familiar  and  confidential 
relations  with  his  next  friend,  Mr.  William  H.  Seward,  I  was 
measurably  identified  with,  if  not  thoroughly  devoted  to,  their 
mutual  fortunes,  for  the  next  fifteen  or  sixteen  years.  While 
editing  The  Jeffersonian  in  Albany,  I  wrote  and  reported  (im 
perfectly)  legislative  proceedings  for  Mr.  Weed's  paper,  The 
Albany  Evening  Journal;  and,  though  I  had  no  part  in 
nominating  Mr.  Seward  for  Governor  in  1838,  I  did  whatever 
I  could  to  help  elect  him ;  and  so  at  his  reelection  in  1840. 
(He  had  previously  been  State  Senator,  elected  in  1830 ;  but 
had  been  badly  defeated  by  William  L.  Marcy,  when  first  a 
candidate  for  Governor,  in  1834.)  When,  after  four  years  of 
obscuration,  the  Whig  star  was  again  in  the  ascendant,  in 
1846  -  48, 1  was  a  zealous,  if  not  very  effective,  advocate  of  his 
election  to  the  United  States  Senate. 

Apart  from  politics,  I  liked  the  man,  though  not  blind  to 
his  faults.  His  natural  instincts  were  humane  and  progres 
sive.  He  hated  Slavery  and  all  its  belongings,  though  a 
seeming  necessity  constrained  him  to  write,  in  1838,  to  this 
intensely  pro-Slavery  city,  a  pro-Slavery  letter,  which  was  at 
war  with  his  real,  or  at  least  with  his  subsequent,  convictions. 
Though  of  Democratic  parentage,  he  had  been  an  Adams  man, 
an  Anti -Mason,  and  was  now  thoroughly  a  Whig.  The  policy 
of  more  extensive  and  vigorous  Internal  Improvement  had  no 
more  zealous  champion.  By  nature,  genial  and  averse  to 


312  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

pomp,  ceremony,  and  formality,  few  public  men  of  his  early 
prime  were  better  calculated  to  attract  and  fascinate  young 
men  of  his  own  party,  and  holding  views  accordant  on  most 
points  with  his. 

Yet  he  had  faults,  which  his  accession  to  power  soon  dis 
played  in  bold  relief.  His  natural  tendencies  were  toward  a 
government  not  merely  paternal,  but  prodigal,  —  one  which, 
in  its  multiform  endeavors  to  make  every  one  prosperous,  if 
not  rich,  was  very  likely  to  whelm  all  in  general  embarrass 
ment,  if  not  in  general  bankruptcy.  Few  Governors  have 
favored,  few  Senators  voted  for,  more  unwisely  lavish  expen 
ditures  than  he.  Above  the  suspicion  of  voting  money  into 
his  own  pocket,  he  has  a  rooted  dislike  to  opposing  a  project 
or  bill  whereby  any  of  his  attached  friends  are  to  profit.  And, 
conceited  as  we  all  are,  I  think  most  men  exceed  him  in  the 
art  of  concealing  from  others  their  overweening  faith  in  their 
own  sagacity  and  discernment. 

Mr.  Thurlow  Weed  was  of  coarser  mould  and  fibre,  —  tall, 
robust,  dark-featured,  shrewd,  resolute,  and  not  over-scrupu 
lous, —  keen-sighted,  though  not  far-seeing.  Writing  slowly 
and  with  difficulty,  he  was  for  twenty  years  the  most  senten 
tious  and  pungent  writer  of  editorial  paragraphs  on  the  Ameri 
can  press. 

In  pecuniary  matters,  he  was  generous  to  a  fault  while 
poor ;  he  is  said  to  be  less  so  since  he  became  rich ;  but  I  am 
no  longer  in  a  position  to  know.  I  cannot  doubt,  however, 
that  if  he  had  never  seen  Wall  Street  or  Washington,  had 
never  heard  of  the  Stock  Board,  and  had  lived  in  some  yet 
undiscovered  country,  where  legislation  is  never  bought  nor 
sold,  his  life  would  have  been  more  blameless,  useful,  and 
happy. 

I  was  sitting  beside  him  in  his  editorial  room  soon  after 
Governor  Seward's  election,  when  he  opened  a  letter  from  a 
brother  Whig,  which  ran  substantially  thus  :  — 

"  DEAR  WEED  :  I  want  to  be  a  Bank  Commissioner.  You  know 
how  to  fix  it.  Do  so,  and  draw  on  me  for  whatever  sum  you  may 
see  fit.  Yours  truly." 


"SEWARD,    WEED,  AND   GREELEY."  313 

In  an  instant,  his  face  became  preternaturally  black  with 
mingled  rage  and  mortification.  "  My  God ! "  said  he,  "  I 
knew  that  my  political  adversaries  thought  me  a  scoundrel, 
but  I  never  till  now  supposed  that  my  friends  did."  He  at 
once  responded  to  the  overture  to  this  effect :  — 

"  SIB  :  I  have  received  your  letter,  and  shall  lay  it  before  the 
Governor  elect,  with  whom  it  will  doubtless  have  the  influence  it 
deserves.  Yours." 

Though  generally  in  hearty  accord,  these  fast  friends  were 
not  entirely  so.  Seward,  born  in  comfortable  circumstances, 
and  educated  a  gentleman,  had  none  of  the  "  Poor  White  " 
prejudice  against  Blacks ;  while  it  was  otherwise  with  Weed, 
whose  origin  and  training  had  been  different.  My  New  Eng 
land  birth  and  Federal  antecedents  saved  me  from  sharing 
this  infirmity,  to  which  the  poverty  and  obscurity  of  my  boy 
hood  might  else  have  exposed  me. 

I  was  early  brought  into  collision  with  both  my  seniors  on 
the  subject  of  a  Eegistry  Law.  Every  Whig  who  had  been 
active  in  the  political  contests  of  this  city  was  instinctively 
and  intensely  a  champion  of  a  registration  of  legal  voters ; 
knowing  well,  by  sad  experience,  that,  in  its  absence,  enormous 
frauds  to  our  damage  are  the  rule,  and  honest  and  legal  voting 
the  exception.  So,  in  the  first  legislature  of  our  State  that 
was  Whig  all  over,  a  bill  was  introduced,  with  my  very  hearty 
assent  and  active  support,  which  provided  for  a  registration 
of  voters  here ;  and  it  had  made  such  headway  before  it  at 
tracted  the  serious  attention  of  Messrs.  Seward  and  Weed, 
that  all  their  great  influence  could  not  prevent  the  Whig 
members  supporting  and  passing  it.  Yet  the  measure  was  so 
intensely  deprecated  by  them,  as  tending  to  alienate  the  un 
distinguished  poor,  and  especially  those  of  foreign  birth,  from 
our  side,  by  teaching  them  to  regard  the  Whigs  as  hostile  to 
their  rights,  that  the  purpose  of  vetoing  it  was  fully  formed 
and  confidentially  avowed ;  and,  though  it  was  at  length 
abandoned,  and  the  bill  signed,  Mr.  Weed  assured  me  that 
the  Governor  would  have  preferred  to  lose  his  right  hand. 


314  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

On  one  important  question,  Mr.  Weed  and  I  were  antipodes. 
Believing  that  a  currency  in  part  of  paper,  kept  at  par  with 
specie,  and  current  in  every  part  of  our  country,  was  indis 
pensable,  I. was  a  zealous  advocate  of  a  National  Bank;  which 
he  as  heartily  detested,  believing  that  its  supporters  would 
always  be  identified  in  the  popular  mind  with  aristocracy, 
monopoly,  exclusive  privilege,  &c.  He  attempted,  more  than 
once,  to  overbear  my  convictions  on  this  point,  or  at  least 
preclude  their  utterance,  but  was  at  length  brought  appar 
ently  to  comprehend  that  this  was  a  point  on  which  we  must 
agree  to  differ. 

The  political  canvass  of  1854  in  our  State  was  unlike  any 
other  ever  known.  The  advocacy  and  passage  of  the  Ne 
braska  Bill  had  disorganized  and  seriously  weakened  the 
Democrats ;  the  Whig  party  had  wasted  to  a  shadow,  yet  an 
august,  imposing,  venerable  shade ;  the  question  of  Liquor 
Prohibition,  grown  suddenly  prominent  by  reason  of  its  suc 
cess  in  Maine,  was  rapidly  effacing,  or  at  least  overriding, 
party  lines ;  while  the  American,  or  "  Know-Nothing  "  move 
ment  had  not  only  a  considerable,  though  ill-defined,  genuine 
strength,  .but  had  attracted  crowds  of  nominal  adherents, 
intent  on  diverse  special  ends.  Though  the  State  had  been 
two  or  three  years  under  Democratic  rule  by  large  majorities, 
no  one  could  safely  guess  how  this  year's  election  would  re 
sult. 

I  was  a  member  of  the  first  anti-Nebraska  or  Eepublican 
State  Convention,  which  met  at  Saratoga  Springs  in  Septem 
ber  ;  but  Messrs.  Weed  and  Seward  for  a  while  stood  aloof 
from  the  movement,  preferring  to  be  still  regarded  as  Whigs. 
We  made  no  nominations  at  that  time,  but  provided  for  a 
nominating  convention  at  a  later  day ;  meantime,  the  Whigs 
held  theirs,  and  nominated  Myron  H.  Clark  for  Governor, 
with  Henry  J.  Eaymond  for  Lieutenant.  The  Eepublicans 
and  the  Prohibitionists  severally  held  conventions  thereafter, 
and  adopted  these  candidates,  finding  them  all  they  could 
ask.  The  Democrats  had  been  rent  afresh  by  their  old  feud 


SEWARD,    WEED,  AND   GREELEY." 


315 


respecting  Slavery  in  the  Territories :  the  "  Softs "  running 
the  incumbent,  Horatio  Seymour ;  the  "  Hards,"  Greene  C. 
Bronson,  for  Governor.  The  "  American "  candidate  was 
Daniel  Ullmann.  When  the  vote  was  canvassed,  it  was 
found  thus  divided  :  — 


Gov.  Clark 156,804 

Seymour      ....  156,495 

Ullmann  (Am.)  .     .     .  122,282 

Bronson 33,851 


Lt.-Gov.  Raymond      .     .     .  157,166 

Ludlow  (Soft)      .  128,833 

Scroggs  (Am.)  .     .  121,037 

Ford  (Hard)  .     .  52,074 


The  Whigs  had  both  branches  of  the  Legislature  by  large 
majorities,  and  they  had  like  majorities  for  every  candidate 
on  their  State  ticket  but  their  Governor,  who  was  barely 
elected.  And,  though  the  "Americans"  claimed  many  of 
the  members  elect,  and  with  reason,  we,  who  had  been  labor 
ing  to  secure  the  return  of  Governor  Seward  to  the  Senate, 
knew  that  we  had  succeeded,  —  that  many  of  the  votes  con 
fidently  counted  on  by  his  adversaries  were  sure  for  him. 
There  were  some  members  who  actually  voted  against  him, 
who  would  have  voted  for  him  had  their  votes  been  needed. 

When  all  was  beyond  contingency,  I  wrote  Governor 
Seward  a  private  letter,  intended  for  his  eye  alone ;  but  the 
pointed  and  misleading  allusions  to  it  by  certain  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  devoted  followers,  after  his  failure  to  be  nominated 
for  President  at  Chicago  in  1860,  impelled  me  to  demand  it 
for  publication,  and  to  print  it.  It  is,  verbatim,  as  follows  :  — 

HORACE  GREELEY  TO  WILLIAM  H.   SEWARD. 

NEW  YORK,  Saturday  Evening,  November  11,  1854. 
GOVERNOR  SEWARD  :  The  Election  is  over,  and  its  results  suf 
ficiently  ascertained.  It  seems  to  me  a  fitting  time  to  announce 
to  you  the  dissolution  of  the  political  firm  of  Seward,  Weed,  and 
Greeley,  by  the  withdrawal  of  the  junior  partner,  —  said  with 
drawal  to  take  effect  on  the  morning  after  the  first  Tuesday  in 
February  next.  And,  as  it  may  seem  a  great  presumption  in  me 
to  assume  that  any  such  firm  exists,  especially  since  the  public 
was  advised,  rather  more  than  a  year  ago,  by  an  editorial  rescript 
in  The  Evening  Journal  formally  reading  me  out  of  the  Whig  party, 
that  I  was  esteemed  no  longer  either  useful  or  ornamental  in  the 


316  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

concern,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  indulge  me  in  some  reminiscences 
which  seem  to  befit  the  occasion. 

I  was  a  poor  young  printer  and  Editor  of  a  Literary  Journal, 
—  a  very  active  and  bitter  Whig  in  a  small  way,  but  not  seeking 
to  be  known  out  of  my  own  Ward  Committee,  —  when,  after  the 
great  Political  Revulsion  of  1837,  I  was  one  day  called  to  the  City 
Hotel,  where  two  strangers  introduced  themselves  as  Thurlow 
Weed  and  Lewis  Benedict,  of  Albany.  They  told  me  that  a  cheap 
Campaign  Paper  of  a  peculiar  stamp  at  Albany  had  been  resolved 
on,  and  that  I  had  been  selected  to  edit  it.  The  announcement 
might  well  be  deemed  nattering  by  one  who  had  never  even  sought 
the  notice  of  the  great,  and  who  was  not  known  as  a  partisan 
writer ;  and  I  eagerly  embraced  their  proposal.  They  asked  me 
to  fix  my  salary  for  the  year ;  I  named  $  1,000,  which  they  agreed 
to  ;  and  I  did  the  work  required,  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  It 
was  work  that  made  no  figure,  and  created  no  sensation  ;  but  I 
loved  it,  and  I  did  it  well.  When  it  was  done,  you  were  Governor, 
dispensing  offices  worth  $  3,000  to  $  20,000  per  year  to  your  friends 
and  compatriots,  and  I  returned  to  my  garret  and  my  crust,  and 
my  desperate  battle  with  pecuniary  obligations  heaped  upon  me 
by  bad  partners  in  business  and  the  disastrous  events  of  1837. 
I  believe  it  did  not  then  occur  to  me  that  some  one  of  these  abun 
dant  places  might  have  been  offered  to  me  without  injustice ;  I 
now  think  it  should  have  occurred  to  you.  If  it  did  occur  to  me, 
I  was  not  the  man  to  ask.  you  for  it ;  I  think  that  should  not  have 
been  necessary.  I  only  remember  that  no  friend  at  Albany  in 
quired  as  to  my  pecuniary  circumstances  ;  that  your  friend  (but 
not  mine),  Robert  C.  Wetmore,  was  one  of  the  chief  dispensers  of 
your  patronage  here  ;  and  that  such  devoted  compatriots  as  A.  H. 
Wells  and  John  Hooks  were  lifted  by  you  out  of  pauperism  into 
independence,  as  I  am  glad  I  was  not ;  and  yet  an  inquiry  from 
you  as  to  my  needs  and  means  at  that  day  would  have  been  timely, 
and  held  ever  in  grateful  remembrance. 

In  the  Harrison  campaign  of  1840,  I  was  again  designated  to 
edit  a  campaign  paper.  I  published  it  as  well,  and  ought  to  have 
made  something  by  it,  in  spite  of  its  extremely  low  price  ;  my  ex 
treme  poverty  was  the  main  reason  why  I  did  not.  It  compelled 
me  to  hire  press-work,  mailing,  &c.,  done  by  the  job,  and  high 
charges  for  extra  work  nearly  ate  me  up.  At  the  close,  I  was  still 


"SEWARD,    WEED,  AND   GREELEY."  317 

without  property  and  in  debt ;  but  this  paper  had  rather  improved 
my  position. 

Now  came  the  great  scramble  of  the  swell  mob  of  coon  min 
strels  and  cider-suckers  at  Washington,  —  I  not  being  counted  in. 
Several  regiments  of  them  went  on  from  this  city ;  but  no  one  of 
the  whole  crowd  —  though  I  say  it  who  should  not  —  had  done 
so  much  toward  General  Harrison's  nomination  and  election  as 
yours  respectfully.  I  asked  nothing,  expected  nothing  ;  but  you, 
Governor  Seward,  ought  to  have  asked  that  I  be  postmaster  of 
New  York.  Your  asking  would  have  been  in  vain  ;  but  it  would 
have  been  an  act  of  grace  neither  wasted  nor  undeserved. 

I  soon  after  started  The  Tribune,  because  I  was  urged  to  do 
so  by  certain  of  your  friends,  and  because  such  a  paper  was  needed 
here.  I  was  promised  certain  pecuniary  aid  in  so  doing  ;  it  might 
have  been  given  me  without  cost  or  risk  to  any  one.  All  I  ever 
had  was  a  loan  by  piecemeal  of  $  1,000  from  James  Coggeshall, 
God  bless  his  honored  memory !  I  did  not  ask  for  this  ;  and  I 
think  it  is  the  one  sole  case  in  which  I  ever  received  a  pecuniary 
favor  from  a  political  associate.  I  am  very  thankful  that  he  did 
not  die  till  it  was  fully  repaid. 

And  here  let  me  honor  one  grateful  recollection.  When  the 
Whig  party  under  your  rule  had  offices  to  give,  my  name  was 
never  thought  of;  but  when,  in  1842-43,  we  were  hopelessly  out 
of  power,  I  was  honored  with  the  party  nomination  for  State 
Printer.  When  we  came  again  to  have  a  State  Printer  to  elect  as 
well  as  nominate,  the  place  went  to  Weed,  as  it  ought.  Yet  it  is 
worth  something  to  know  that  there  was  once  a  time  when  it  was 
not  deemed  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  recognize  me  as  belonging  to 
your  household.  If  a  new  office  had  not  since  been  created  on  pur 
pose  to  give  its  valuable  patronage  to  H.  J.  Raymond,  and  enable 
St.  John  to  show  forth  his  Times  as  the  organ  of  the  Whig  State 
Administration,  I  should  have  been  still  more  grateful. 

In  1848,  your  star  again  rose,  and  my  warmest  hopes  were 
realized  in  your  election  to  the  Senate.  I  was  no  longer  needy, 
and  had  no  more  claim  than  desire  to  be  recognized  by  General 
Taylor.  I  think  I  had  some  claim  to  forbearance  from  you. 
What  I  received  thereupon  was  a  most  humiliating  lecture  in  the 
shape  of  a  decision  in  the  libel-case  of  Redfield  and  Pringle,  and  an 
obligation  to  publish  it  in  niy  own  arid  the  other  journal  of  our 


318  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

supposed  firm.  I  thought,  and  still  think,  this  lecture  needlessly 
cruel  and  mortifying.  The  plaintiffs,  after  using  my  columns  to 
the  extent  of  their  needs  or  desires,  stopped  writing,  and  called  on 
me  for  the  name  of  their  assailant.  I  proffered  it  to  them,  —  a 
thoroughly  responsible  name.  They  refused  to  accept  it,  unless  it 
should  prove  to  be  one  of  the  four  or  five  first  men  in  Batavia  ! 
—  when  they  had  known  from  the  first  who  it  was,  and  that  it 
was  neither  of  them.  They  would  not  accept  that  which  they  had 
demanded  ;  they  sued  me  instead  for  money ;  and  money  you 
were  at  liberty  to  give  them  to  your  heart's  content.  I  do  not 
think  you  were  at  liberty  to  humiliate  me  in  the  eyes  of  my  own 
and  your*  public  as  you  did.  I  think  you  exalted  your  own 
judicial  sternness  and  fearlessness  unduly  at  my  expense.  I 
think  you  had  a  better  occasion  for  the  display  of  these  qualities 
when  Webb  threw  himself  untimely  upon  you  for  a  pardon  which 
he  had  done  all  a  man  could  do  to  demerit.  (His  paper  is  paying 
you  for  it  now.) 

I  have  publicly  set  forth  my  view  of  your  and  our  duty  with 
respect  to  Fusion,  Nebraska  and  party  designations.  I  will  not 
repeat  any  of  that.  I  have  referred  also  to  Weed's  reading  me  out 
of  the  Whig  party,  —  my  crime  being  in  this,  as  in  some  other 
things,  that  of  doing  to-day  what  more  politic  persons  will  not  be 
ready  to  do  till  to-morrow. 

Let  me  speak  of  the  late  canvass.  I  was  once  sent  to  Con 
gress  for  ninety  days,  merely  to  enable  Jim  Brooks  to  secure  a 
seat  therein  for  four  years.  I  think  I  never  hinted  to  any  human 
being  that  I  would  have  liked  to  be  put  forward  for  any  place. 
But  James  W.  White  (you  hardly  know  how  good  and  true  a  man 
he  is)  started  my  name  for  Congress,  and  Brooks's  packed  dele 
gation  thought  I  could  help  him  through,  so  I  was  put  on  behind 
him.  But  this  last  Spring,  after  the  Nebraska  question  had 
created  a  new  state  of  things  at  the  North,  one  or  two  personal 
friends,  of  no  political  consideration,  suggested  my  name  as  a 
candidate  for  Governor,  and  I  did  not  discourage  them.  Soon, 
the  persons  who  were  afterward  mainly  instrumental  in  nominat 
ing  Clark  came  about  me,  and  asked  if  I  could  secure  the  Know- 

*  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  this  judgment  is  the  only  speech,  letter,  or  docu 
ment,  addressed  to  the  public,  in  which  you  ever  recognized  my  existence.  I 
hope  I  may  not  go  down  to  posterity  as  embalmed  therein. 


"SEWARD,   WEED,  AND   GREELEY."  319 

Nothing  vote.     I  told  them  I  neither  could  nor  would  touch  it,  — 
on  the  contrary,   I  loathed  and   repelled    it.      Thereupon,    they 
turned  upon  Clark. 

I  said  nothing,  did  nothing.  A  hundred  people  asked  me 
who  should  be  run  for  Governor.  I  sometimes  indicated  Patter 
son  ;  I  never  hinted  at  my  own  name.  But  by  and  by  Weed 
came  down  and  called  me  to  him,  to  tell  me  why  he  could  not 
support  me  for  Governor.  (I  had  never  asked  nor  counted  on  his 
support.) 

I  am  sure  Weed  did  not  mean  to  humiliate  me,  but  he  did  it. 
The  upshot  of  his  discourse  (very  cautiously  stated)  was  this  :  If  I 
were  a  candidate  for  Governor,  I  should  beat  not  myself  only,  but 
you.  Perhaps  that  was  true.  But,  as  I  had  in  no  manner  solicited 
his  or  your  support,  I  thought  this  might  have  been  said  to  my 
friends,  rather  than  to  me.  I  suspect  it  is  true  that  I  could  not 
have  been  elected  Governor  as  a  Whig.  But  had  he  and  you  been 
favorable,  there  would  have  been  a  party  in  the  State,  ere  this, 
which  could  and  would  have  elected  me  to  any  post,  without  in 
juring  myself  or  endangering  your  reelection. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  urged  that  I  had  in  no  manner  asked  a 
nomination.  At  length,  I  was  nettled  by  his  language  —  well 
intended,  but  very  cutting,  as  addressed  by  him  to  me  —  to  say, 
in  substance,  "  Well,  then,  make  Patterson  Governor,  and  try  my 
name  for  Lieutenant.  To  lose  this  place  is  a  matter  of  no  im 
portance,  and  we  can  see  whether  I  am  really  so  odious." 

I  should  have  hated  to  serve  as  Lieutenant-Governor,  but  I 
should  have  gloried  in  running  for  the  post.  I  want  to  have  my 
enemies  all  upon  me  at  once,  —  I  am.  tired  of  fighting  them  piece 
meal.  And,  although  I  should  have  been  beaten  in  the  canvass,  I 
know  that  my  running  would  have  helped  the  ticket  and  helped 
my  paper. 

It  was  thought  best  to  let  the  matter  take  another  course. 
No  other  name  could  have  been  put  upon  the  ticket  so  bitterly 
humbling  to  me  as  that  which  was  selected.  The  nomination  was 
given  to  Raymond,  —  the  fight  left  to  me.  And,  Governor  Seward, 
/  have  made  it,  though  it  be  conceited  in  me  to  say  so.  What 
little  fight  there  has  been,  I  have  stirred  up.  Even  Weed  has  not 
been  (I  speak  of  his  paper)  hearty  in  this  contest,  while  the  jour 
nal  of  the  Whig  Lieutenant-Governor  has  taken  care  of  its  own 


320  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

interests  and  let  the  canvass  take  care  of  itself,  as  it  early  declared 
it  would  do.  That  journal  has  (because  of  its  milk-and-water 
course)  some  twenty  thousand  subscribers  in  this  city  and  its  sub 
urbs  ;  and  of  these  twenty  thousand,  I  venture  to  say,  more  voted 
for  Ullmann  and  Scroggs  than  for  Clark  and  Raymond  ;  The  Tribune 
(also  because  of  its  character)  has  but  eight  thousand  subscribers 
within  the  same  radius  ;  and,  I  venture  to  say  that,  of  its  habitual 
readers,  nine  tenths  voted  for  Clark  and  Raymond,  very  few  for 
Ullmann  and  Scroggs.  I  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  contest,  and 
take  a  terrible  responsibility,  in  order  to  prevent  the  Whigs  uniting 
upon  James  W.  Barker,  in  order  to  defeat  Fernando  Wood.  Had 
Barker  been  elected  here,  neither  you  nor  I  could  walk  these 
streets  without  being  hooted,  and  Know-Nothingism  would  have 
swept  like  a  prairie-fire.  I  stopped  Barker's  election  at  the  cost  of 
incurring  the  deadliest  enmity  of  the  defeated  gang,  and  I  have 
been  rebuked  for  it  by  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  paper.  At  the 
critical  moment,  he  came  out  against  John  Wheeler  in  favor  of 
Charles  H.  Marshall  (who  would  have  been  your  deadliest  enemy 
in  the  House) ;  and  even  your  Colonel-General's  paper,  which  was 
even  with  me  in  insisting  that  Wheeler  should  be  returned,  wheeled 

about  at  the  last  moment,  and  went  in  for  Marshall, The 

Tribune  alone  clinging  to  Wheeler  to  the  last.  I  rejoice  that  they 
who  turned  so  suddenly  were  not  able  to  turn  all  their  readers. 

Governor  Seward,  I  know  that  some  of  your  most  cherished 
friends  think  me  a  great  obstacle  to  your  advancement, — that 
John  Schoolcraft,  for  one,  insists  that  you  and  Weed  shall  not  be 
identified  with  me.  I  trust,  after  a  time,  you  will  not  be.  I  trust 
I  shall  never  be  found  in  opposition  to  you  ;  I  have  no  further 
wish  but  to  glide  out  of  the  newspaper  world  as  quietly  and  as 
speedily  as  possible,  join  my  family  in  Europe,  and,  if  possible, 
stay  there  quite  a  time,  —  long  enough  to  cool  my  fevered  brain 
and  renovate  my  overtasked  energies.  All  I  ask  is  that  we  shall 
be  counted  even  on  the  morning  after  the  first  Tuesday  in  Febru 
ary,  as  aforesaid,  and  that  I  may  thereafter  take  such  course  as 
seems  best,  without  reference  to  the  past. 

You  have  done  me  acts  of  valued  kindness  in  the  line  of  your 
profession,  —  let  me  close  with  the  assurance  that  these  will  ever 
be  gratefully  remembered  by 


Yours, 

HORACE  GREELEY. 


HON.  WM.  H.  SEWARD,  Present. 


"SEWARD,    WEED,  AND   GREELEY."  321 

Seeing  nothing  in  this  letter  that  requires  explanation,  I 
simply  add  that  my  personal  relations  with  Governor  Seward 
were  wholly  unchanged  by  it.  We  met  frequently  and  cor 
dially  after  it  was  written,  and  we  very  freely  conferred 
and  cooperated  during  the  long  struggle  in  Congress  for  Kansas 
and  Free  Labor.  He  understood  as  well  as  I  did  that  my 
position  with  regard  to  him,  though  more  independent  than  it 
had  been,  was  nowise  hostile,  and  that  I  was  as  ready  to 
support  his  advancement  as  that  of  any  other  statesman, 
whenever  my  judgment  should  tell  me  that  the  public  good 
required  it.  I  was  not  his  adversary,  but  my  own  and  my 
country's  freeman. 

In  the  Spring  of  1859,  Governor  Seward  crossed  the  At 
lantic  ;  visiting  Egypt,  traversing  Syria  and  other  portions  of 
Asia  Minor,  as  well  as  much  of  Europe.  Soon  -after  his  re 
turn,  he  came  one  evening  to  my  seat  in  Dr.  Chapin's 
church,  —  as  he  had  repeatedly  done  during  former  visits  to 
our  city,  —  and  I  now  recall  this  as  the  last  occasion  on  which 
we  ever  met.  The  Scripture  lesson  of  the  evening  was  the 
thirty-first  chapter  of  Proverbs,  which  recounts  the  merits 
and  proclaims  the  honors  of  the  virtuous  woman  ;  enumerat 
ing,  among  the  latter,  that  "  Her  husband  is  known  in  the 
gates,  when  he  sitteth  among  the  elders  of  the  land."  "  Two 
months  ago,"  thereupon  observed  Governor  Seward,  "  I  was 
travelling  in  Syria,  with  a  Turkish  firman  and  other  docu 
ments,  which  proclaimed  me,  I  infer,  a  person  of  some  conse 
quence  ;  since  the  head  functionary  of  a  village  where  I 
halted  and  presented  my  papers  received  me  with  the  greatest 
distinction,  and,  as  a  final  proof  of  his  regard,  invited  me  to 
sit  with  him  in  the  gate,  as,  flanked  by  the  elders,  he  heard 
complaints  and  defences,  and  rendered  judgment  thereon." 
So  unchanging  are  the  essential  habits  and  usages  of  the 
Asiatics,  that  foreign  conquest  —  Egyptian,  Assyrian,  Persian, 
Greek,  Roman,  Saracen,  Crusader,  and  Osmarili  —  had,  along 
with  more  than  thirty  centuries,  rolled  their  effacing  surges 
over  that  region,  yet  here  are  the  chiefs  of  the  respective 
villages  or  tribes  judging  the  people  as  of  old,  surrounded 
21 


322  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

9 

and  counselled  by  the  elders;  and  any  eminent  stranger  is 
invited,  as  a  mark  of  honor,  to  sit  with  them,  as  he  was  in  (or 
before)  the  reign  of  Solomon. 

Ross  Browne  found  but  one  man  doing  anything  in  Syria  ; 
and  he  was  falling  off  a  house.  It  is  well  to  be  usefully  busy ; 
yet  quiet  and  tenacious  contentment  with 

"  The  good  old  ways,  —  all  ways,  when  old,  are  good," 

is  not  devoid  of  recommendation,  and  even  advantage. 

I  have  often,  during  these  later  years,  been  unable  to  agree 
with  Governor  Seward,  —  have  sometimes  quite  pointedly 
dissented  from  his  views  of  great  public  questions.  It  is  not 
probable  that  we  shall  ever  again  be  as  near  to  each  other  as 
we  have  been.  That  his  ends  have  ever  been  patriotic,  I  will 
not  doubt ;  that  his  means  have  sometimes  been  mistaken,  I 
think  his  warmest  friends  must  admit.  That  he  once  aspired 
to  the  Presidency  is  a  truth,  but  no  reproach ;  able,  wise,  and 
good  men  have  done  so,  without  impeachment  of  their  pa 
triotism  or  abatement  of  their  usefulness.  Still,  one  who  has 
all  but  clutched  the  glittering  prize,  yet  failed  to  secure  it, 
always  thereafter  seems  to  have  suffered  from  the  aspiration 
or  the  failure,  —  possibly  from  both.  Great,  intellectually, 
as  Daniel  Webster  was,  he  would  have  been  morally  greater, 
and  every  way  more  useful  and  honored,  had  he  sternly  re 
sponded  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  ! "  to  every  suggestion 
that  he  might  yet  attain  the  Presidency.  I  hope  Mr.  Seward 
will  outlive,  if  he  has  not  already  outlived,  his  ambition,  and 
will  find  leisure  and  incitement  to  write  of  what  he  has  seen 
and  known  during  his  all  but  a  half-century  of  devotion  to 
public  affairs.  Doubtless,  he  could  clear  up  points  which 
now  seem  obscure  and  puzzling ;  and  I  will  hope  he  would 
succeed  in  showing  that,  even  when  most  denounced  and 
execrated,  he  was,  however  mistaken,  faithful  in  heart  and 
purpose  to  Justice,  to  Freedom,  and  the  inalienable  Eights  of 
Man. 


XXXIX. 

EUROPE  REVISITED.  —  PARIS.  —  SWITZERLAND. 

IN  the  Autumn  of  1854,  my  wife  took  passage,  with  our 
two  surviving  children,  for  Europe,  under  a  pledge  that  I 
should  follow  and  rejoin  her  the  ensuing  Spring.  As  those 
children  were  less  than  six  and  four  years  old  respectively,  I 
did  not  believe  she  had  the  courage  to  start-  on  such  a  jour 
ney  without  me  to  a  continent  whereon  she  had  scarcely  an 
acquaintance ;  but  when  I  at  length  said  to  her,  "  If  you  are 
really  going,  I  must  engage  your  passage,"  she  replied,  "  En 
gage  it,  then " ;  and  I  did  so.  She  went  accordingly,  and 
spent  the  ensuing  Winter  quietly  in  London  ;  where  I  joined 
her  late  in  April  ensuing.  In  a  few  days,  I  ran  over  in  ad 
vance  to  Paris,  where  I  hired  a  little  cottage  just  outside  of 
the  then  western  barrier  1'Etoile  or  octroi  gate,  which  sepa 
rates  the  Avenue  Champs  Elysees  from  the  street  outside, 
which  leads  to  the  Bois  de  Bolougne,  to  Passy,  and  to  Neuilly. 
Here  my  wife  soon  rejoined  me  with  our  children,  two  female 
friends,  and  the  husband  of  one  of  them ;  and  here  we 
remained  till  late  in  June,  visiting  the  second  World's  Expo 
sition,  the  Louvre,  the  Garden  of  Plants,  the  Invalides,  Notre 
Dame,  the  Field  of  Mars,  the  Madeleine,  Pere-la-Chaise,  &c., 
&c.,  and  making  (or  renewing)  a  very  few  French  with  many 
American  acquaintances.  The  Spring  was  remarkably  cold, 
backward,  cloudy,  and  rainy,  —  very  unlike  our  preconcep 
tions  of  "  sunny  France,"  and  our  enjoyment  of  Paris  did  not 
fulfil  our  expectations  ;  yet  the  six  weeks  thus  spent  are  fixed 
in  my  memory  as  the  nearest  approach  to  leisure  I  have 
known  during  the  last  thirty  years.  For,  though  still  occu- 


324  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

pied,  and  even  busy,  throughout  nearly  every  day,  I  was  less 
so  than  in  any  former  six  weeks  since  I  first  landed  in  New 
York.  I  spent  much  time  in  the  Exposition,  trying  to  com 
prehend  it ;  but  I  was  not  a  juror,  as  I  had  been  in  London 
four  years  previously,  and  I  did  not  feel  required  to  study 
this  Exposition  so  persistently,  so  systematically,  as  I  had 
studied  the  former.  Besides,  it  did  not  impress  me  so  favor 
ably  nor  interest  me  so  deeply  as  that  did.  The  edifice  was 
of  stone ;  hence,  far  more  massive,  gloomy,  crypt-like,  than 
the  Hyde  Park  marvel ;  and  the  French  seemed  to  me  infe 
rior  in  the  skill  required  for  lucid  arrangement  and  classifica 
tion.  This  judgment  may  have  been  the  dictate  of  prejudice 
or  ignorance ;  I  only  speak  as  I  felt,  and  record  an  abiding 
impression.  Two  hours  of  impulsive  wandering  and  gazing 
in  the  Paris  Exposition  fatigued  me  more  than  four  hours' 
steady  work  as  a  juror  in  its  London  precursor ;  and  I  learned 
immeasurably  more  from  that  of  '51  than  I  did  from  that  of 
'55.  In  fact,  the  only  point  on  which  my  little  all  of  knowl 
edge  seems  to  have  been  permanently  enlarged  by  the  latter 
is  that  I  think  I  obtained  here  some  faint,  rude  conception 
of  the  peculiarities  and  merits  of  the  school  of  art  termed 
"  pre-Eaphaelite,"  -  - 1  cannot  say  how  aptly.  I  was  deeply, 
though  not  altogether  favorably,  impressed  by  the  works  of 
J.  E.  Millais,  Holman  Hunt,  and  other  apostles  of  this  school, 
whose  works  here  first  arrested  my  attention ;  and  I  now  re 
call  a  picture  of  "  The  Dead  Ophelia  "  (by  Millais,  if  I  rightly 
remember),  which  evinced  a  pains-taking  fidelity,  and  made  a 
vivid,  though  unpleasant,  impression.  I  trust  that  this  school 
has  not  yet  attained  its  fulness  of  development,  or  at  least 
had  not  in  1855 ;  if  it  had,  the  grand  achievements  of  Ea- 
phael,  of  Titian,  and  of  Murillo  are  in  little  danger  of  being 
eclipsed  or  superseded  by  those  of  its  disciples  or  devotees. 
Still,  the  fact  remains,  that,  of  the  many  pictures  exhibited  in 
the  Fine  Arts  division  of  the  Paris  Exposition,  I  remember 
none  beside  so  distinctly,  so  vividly,  as  those  of  the  British 
pre-Eaphaelites,  so  called,  though  several  of  the  French 
painters  of  our  day  evince  decided  merit. 


EUROPE  REVISITED.  — PARIS.  — SWITZERLAND.     325 

Paris  is  the  Paradise  of  thoughtless  boys  with  full  pock 
ets  ;  but  I,  if  ever  thoughtless,  had  ceased  to  be  a  boy  some 
time  ere  I  first  greeted  the  "gay,  bright,  airy  city  of  the 
Seine."  I  presume  I  could  now  enjoy  a  week  of  the  careless, 
sunny  life  of  her  mob  of  genteel  idlers ;  but  a  month  of  it 
would  sate  and  bore  me.  To  rise  reluctantly  to  a  late  break 
fast  ;  trifle  away  the  day,  from  noon  to  5  P.  M.,  in  riding  and 
sight-seeing ;  dine  elaborately ;  and  thenceforward  spend  the 
evening  at  theatre,  opera,  or  party,  is  a  routine  that  soon  tells 
on  one  who  is  indurated  in  the  habit  of  making  the  most  of 
every  working-hour.  I  envy  no  man  his  happiness  ;  I  envy 
least  of  all  the  pleasure-seeker,  who  chases  his  nimble,  co 
quettish  butterfly,  year  in,  year  out,  along  the  Boulevards  and 
around  the  "  Places  "  of  the  giddy  metropolis  of  France. 


And  here  let  me  turn  aside  to  say  that  the  very  common 
aspiration  of  our  young  men  to  spend  a  year  or  more  in  for 
eign  travel  seems  to  me  inconsiderate  and  mistaken.  No  one 
is  fit  to  travel  in  foreign  lands  till  he  has  made  himself  pretty 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  his  own ;  and  the  youth  who  — 
ignorant  of  History,  of  Art,  of  Languages,  and  very  slenderly 
versed  even  in  Natural  Science  —  fancies  that  he  can  pay  his 
way  while  traversing  Europe  by  writing  for  the  Press,  evinces 
inordinate,  preposterous  presumption.  If  I  seem,  in  saying 
this,  to  condemn  myself,  so  be  it ;  but  remember  I  was  more 
than  forty  years  old,  and  had  had  a  full  dozen  years'  famil 
iarity  with  public  affairs,  before  I  set  my  face  toward  the  Old 
World  ;  yet,  even  thus,  I  doubt  not  that  my  letters  abounded 
in  blunders  and  gaucheries  which  a  riper  knowledge,  a  better 
preparation,  for  foreign  travel,  would  have  taught  me  to  avoid. 
As  it  was,  I  wrote  for  a  circle  of  readers  of  whom  many  were 
glad  to  look  through  my  eyes  because  they  were  mine,  —  that 
is,  because,  having  read  my  writings  for  years,  they  were  in 
terested  in  knowing  how  Europe  would  impress  me,  and  what 
I  should  find  there  to  admire  or  to  condemn.  Had  not  this 
been  the  case,  —  had  I  addressed  readers  to  whom  I  was  un- 


326  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

known  or  indifferent,  —  I  could  not  have  deemed  my  letters 
worth  their  attention,  nor  likely  to  attract  it. 

I  say,  then,  most  earnestly,  to  every  youth  anxious  to  go 
abroad,  traverse  Europe,  and  pay  his  way  by  writing  for  some 
journal,  "  Tarry  at  Jericho  till  your  beard  be  grown."  I  never 
knew  but  one  of  your  class  —  Bayard  Taylor  —  who  achieved 
a  real  success  in  thus  travelling ;  and  he  left  home  a  good 
type-setter,  with  some  knowledge  of  modern  languages ;  so 
that  he  stopped  and  worked  at  his  trade  whenever  his  funds 
ran  short ;  yet,  even  thus,  he  did  not  wholly  pay  his  way 
during  the  two  years  he  devoted  to  his  delightful  "  Views 
Afoot."  I  know  it ;  for  I  employed  and  paid  him  all  that  his 
letters  were  fairly  worth,  though  not  nearly  so  much  as  his 
letters  now  righteously  command.  He  practised  a  systematic 
and  careful  economy  ;  yet  he  went  away  with  money,  and  re 
turned  with  the  clothes  on  his  back,  and  (I  judge)  very  little 
more.  My  young  friend,  if  you  think  yourself  better  qualified 
than  he  was,  go  ahead,  and  "  do  "  Europe  !  but  don't  ask  me 
to  further  your  scheme ;  for  I  hold  that  you  may  far  better 
stay  at  home,  apply  yourself  to  some  useful  branch  of  produc 
tive  industry,  help  pay  our  National  Debt,  and  accumulate 
a  little  independence  whereon,  by  and  by,  to  travel  (if  you 
choose)  as  a  gentleman,  and  not  with  but  a  sheet  of  paper 
between  you  and  starvation.  It  is  bad  to  be  ragged  and  hun 
gry  at  home  ;  it  is  infinitely  worse  to  be  destitute  in  a  foreign 
country,  where  every  one  feels  that  you  have  no  moral  right 
to  subtract  from  his  means  or  add  to  his  burdens.  Even  if 
willing  to  be  a  beggar  and  a  vagabond,  be  content  to  burden 
your  country,  and  go  not  abroad  to  disgrace  her !  The  bor 
rowing  Yankee  is  a  nuisance  anywhere  ;  but  he  is  a  frightful, 
hideous  pest  in  those  portions  of  Europe  most  frequented  by 
Americans. 

If  I  were  to  spend  a  year  at  leisure  in  the  Old  World,  I 
think  I  should  give  a  month  of  it  to  London,  another  to  the 
residue  of  the  British  Isles,  a  third  to  France,  a  fourth  to  Ger 
many,  a  month  to  Home,  another  to  the  realm  of  Victor  Em 
manuel,  or  what  the  Pope  terms  "  the  sub- Alpine  kingdom," 


EUROPE  REVISITED.— PARIS.  — SWITZERLAND.      327 

and  the  remaining  half  of  the  year  to  Switzerland,  —  not  po 
litical,  but  geographical,  Switzerland,  which  includes  Savoy 
and  the  Tyrol.  I  would  cross  the  ocean  in  June,  land  at 
Havre  or  Antwerp,  make  my  way  directly  to  the  Alps,  and 
there  remain  until  driven  down  their  southward  sloping  vales 
by  the  coming  on  of  Winter.  Then  I  would  descend  to 
Milan,  pass  eastward  to  Venice,  and  back,  by  Bologna  and 
Florence,  to  Rome ;  hieing  therefrom  to  Naples  to  greet  the 
advent  of  Spring ;  steaming  thence  to  Marseilles,  and  crossing 
France  by  Lyons  and  Paris,  to  finish  my  tour  in  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland. 


I  crossed  the  Alps  twice  in  my  former  visit  to  Europe ;  first 
by  Mont  Cenis,  from  Lyons  to  Turin ;  returning,  via  Milan, 
across  the  pass  of  St.  Gothard  to  Lucerne  and  Basle.  The 
long  June  day  in  which  I  traversed,  by  diligence,  Savoy,  from 
the  frontier  (alas  !  the  frontier  no  longer)  of  France  to  the 
crest  of  Mont  Cenis,  is  one  of  the  brightest  that  lives  in  my 
memory  ;  next  to  that  stands  that  wherein  I  left  Milan  at  5 
A.  M.,  travelled  fifteen  miles  by  rail  to  Monza,  and  thence 
skirted  by  diligence  Lake  Como,  crossed  into  the  valley  of 
the  Ticino,  which  we  wound  steadily  up  to  the  little  village 
or  hamlet  of  Airolo,  at  the  foot  of  the  pass  of  St.  Gothard, 
very  near  the  upper  limit  of  cultivation.  Eesting  here  for 
the  night,  and  crossing  the  summit  of  the  pass  about  noon, 
wre  rattled  down  to  the  Lake  of  Altorf,  whereon  a  tiny  steam 
boat  conveyed  us  to  Lucerne  before  nightfall.  Though  the 
plains  of  Italy  glowed  beneath  a  July  sun,  and  the  Vine,  the 
Maize,  and  the  Chestnut  clung  tenaciously  to  the  valley  of 
the  Ticino,  still  they  were  successively  constrained,  by  the 
increasing  cold,  to  abandon  it.  We  found  little  besides  Oats, 
Potatoes,  and  Grass  growing  around  Airolo ;  and  these  for 
sook  us  a  little  further  up  ;  so  that,  at  the  summit  of  the  pass, 
a  chill  storm  was  piling  new  snow  upon  the  still  formidable 
drifts  of  the  preceding  Winter  (perchance  of  a  thousand  Win 
ters),  and  the  tumbling,  roaring  brooks  were  frequently  seen 
emerging  from  beneath  ice  of  ample  thickness  and  solidity. 


328  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

On  my  later  visit  to  Europe,  I  left  Paris  with  my  family  in 
June  ;  travelled  by  rail  to  Dijon,  capital  of  the  kingdom  of 
Burgundy  that  was,  —  the  palace  of  whose  kings  is  now  a  mu 
seum  of  deeply  interesting  relics  of  that  monarchy,  —  and, 
after  spending  a  bright  day  there,  we  took  diligence  at  9  P.  M., 
were  toiling  up  the  Jura  next  forenoon,  and  were  soon  rattling 
clown  their  southeastern  slope,  whence  we  reached  Geneva 
before  night.  Passing  thence  up  the  valley  of  the  Arve  to 
Chamonix,  we  spent  five  days  there  in  deeply  interested  ob 
servation  of  the  adjacent  peaks  and  glaciers.  I  gave  one  day 
to  a  visit  to  Montanvert  and  the  Mer  de  Glace  (Sea  of  Ice), 
across  which  cattle  are  annually  driven  —  a  practical  path 
being  first  made  by  cutting  ice  and  filling  crevices  —  to  a 
sunny  southern  slope  ("  the  Garden  "),  9,000  feet  above  tide- 
level,  on  an  adjacent  mountain,  where  they  are  pastured  till 
snow  falls  and  lies,  and  then  driven  back  to  the  valley  whence 
they  came.  The  ice  of  the  Mer  de  Glace  is  so  frequently 
seamed  with  deep  cracks  and  crevices  as  to  afford  most  unsafe 
footing  for  novices  in  Alpine  pedestrianism ;  and  I,  for  one, 
was  glad  to  turn  about,  when  I  had  gone  but  half-way  across 
it,  and  regain  the  solid  ground  I  had  eagerly  left.  You  climb 
thence  nearly  a  thousand  feet  to  the  perch  known  as  Montan 
vert,  whence  a  good  view  is  had,  in  clear- weather,  of  several 
lofty  peaks,  Mont  Blanc  included ;  and,  when  I  had  thence 
made  my  way  down  to  Chamonix  (you  ascend  on  horse  or 
mule  back,  but  descend  slowly  on  foot),  I  was  as  weary  as  any 
one  need  wish  to  be. 

During  my  absence  on  this  trip,  my  wife  had  undertaken 
to  visit,  with  our  children,  the  Glacier  de  Boissons,  which 
seems  scarcely  a  mile  distant  from  the  hotels  at  Chamonix, 
and  easily  accessible  ;  but  she  had  failed  to  reach  it,  lost  her 
way,  and  been  obliged  to  hire  a  peasant-woman  to  pilot  her, 
and  carry  our  fagged-out  younger  child,  back  to  our  hotel.  I 
laughed  at  this  misadventure  when  we  met,  and  volunteered 
to  lead  the  party  next  morning  straight  up  to  the  glacier 
aforesaid,  so  that  they  might  put  their  hands  on  it ;  but,  on 
trying  it,  I  failed  miserably.  So  many  deep  ravines  and  steep 


EUROPE  REVISITED.  — PARIS.  — SWITZERLAND.     329 

moraines  were  found  to  bar  our  way,  where  all  seemed  smooth 
and  level  from  our  hotel,  and  the  actual  was  so  much  greater 
than  the  apparent  distance,  that  I  gave  up,  after  an  hour's 
rugged  clambering,  and  contented  myself  with  asserting  that 
I  could  reach  the  glacier  by  myself,  —  as  I  still  presume  I 
could,  though  I  never  tried.  Either  of  the  great  glaciers  is  so 
large  that  it  dwarfs  everything  around  it ;  belittling  obstacles 
and  distances  to  an  extent  elsewhere  incredible. 

The  Glacier  des  Bois  is  said  to  measure  over  fifty  miles 
from  the  giant  snow-drift  wherein  it  originates,  filling  an  in 
dentation  or  gully  leading  down  the  east  side  of  Mont  Blanc, 
to  the  very  bed  of  the  Arve  in  the  Chamonix  valley.  Indeed, 
the  Mer  de  Glace  itself  may  be  considered  a  branch,  if  not  the 
principal  source,  of  the  little  river,  and  is  approached  by  fol 
lowing  up  the  bed  of  the  stream  for  a  couple  of  miles  or  so 
above  the  village,  then  stepping  from  one  to  another  of  the 
giant  boulders,  brought  down  by  the  glacier  from  the  icy 
region  above,  and  which  here  fill  the  spacious  bed  of  the 
stream.  I  spent  a  forenoon  here,  watching  the  gradual  dis 
solution  of  the  ice  by  the  warm  breath  of  the  valley,  and 
noting  how  moraines  are  made. 

A  moraine  is  a  ridge  or  bank  of  earth  and  stones,  averaging 
four  to  eight  feet  high,  and  perhaps  ten  to  twenty  in  width  at 
the  base,  which  is  uniformly  found  bordering  a  glacier  on  either 
side,  with  one  far  larger  —  oftener  two  or  more  —  at  its  lower 
extremity.  Tt  is  so  unfailingly  separated  by  distances  of  ten 
to  twenty  feet  from  the  glacier,  that  the  green  observer  finds 
it  difficult  to  comprehend  that  it  is  naturally  formed  of  the 
points  and  fragments  of  rock  broken  off  by  the  giant  masses 
of  ice  in  their  imperceptible,  yet  constant,  progress  —  at  the 
average  rate  of  six  feet  or  so  per  day  —  from  the  snow-drifts 
cradled  between  the  higher  peaks  to  the  deep  valleys,  green 
with  grass,  and  crimson  with  Alpine  flowers. 

But  steady  observation  detects  a  constant  wearing  away,  in 
warm  weather,  of  the  lower  part  of  the  glacier  facing  the 
valley,  and  a  consequent  formation  of  cavities  and  channels 
therein,  whereby  the  stones  are  loosened  and  allowed  to  pre- 


330  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

cipitate  themselves.  But,  while  the  water  falls  directly  down 
ward,  the  stones  fall  outward,  or,  striking  a  lower  sloue  of  ice, 
are  so  deflected  from  the  perpendicular  that  they  rest  at  last 
at  some  distance  outward  from  the  base  of  the  glacier.  Hence 
moraines. 

We  were  in  Chamonix,  I  believe,  from  the  20th  to  the  25th 
of  June,  —  too  early  by  a  month.  Snow  fell  repeatedly, 
though  lightly ;  rain  frequently  and  heavily ;  the  mountain- 
tops  were  usually  shrouded  in  cloud  and  fog ;  and  we  only 
caught  a  clear  view  of  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  on  the 
morning  of  our  departure.  Swamp  Alder  (a  large  shrub  with 
us)  here  attaining  the  size  of  a  considerable  tree,  so  that  it  is 
frequently  split  into  fence-rails ;  and  stretches  of  meadow, 
carpeted  and  blazing  with  the  deep  scarlet  of  innumerable 
flowers,  —  are  among  my  recollections  of  that  lofty,  high- 
walled  valley,  so  deeply  embosomed  in  the  Alps,  and  so  rich 
in  everything  that  renders  the  vicinage  of  mountains  attractive 
to  civilized  man. 

Eeturning  to  Geneva,  we  took  steamboat  on  Lake  Leman 
to  Lausanne,  whence  we  journeyed  by  diligence  to  Berne,  and 
were  to  start  thence  at  4  one  morning  for  Interlachen  and  the 
Bernese  Oberland;  but  the  sudden  illness  of  a  child  forbade.; 
and  we  returned  to  Lausanne,  —  a  lovely  little  city,  nested 
half-way  up  the  side  of  a  long,  steep,  verdant  hill,  which 
would  elsewhere  be  deemed  a  mountain,  —  where  I  left  my 
family  in  a  rented  cottage,  and  hastened  back,  by  Neufchatel, 
Basle,  and  Strasburg,  to  Paris,  where  business  urgently  re 
quired  my  presence ;  leaving  France  two  or  three  weeks  later 
for  London,  Liverpool,  and  home.  I  embarked  at  Liverpool 
under  a  deep  impression  that  something  had  gone  wrong  with 
my  family  (which  returned  in  the  Autumn  to  Paris,  thence 
repaired  to  Germany,  and  spent  the  ensuing  Winter  at  Dres 
den;  returning,  via  England,  to  New  York  the  following 
Summer).  On  reaching  home,  I  learned  that  my  mother  had 
died  on  the  day  of  my  departure  from  Liverpool.  Though 


EUROPE  REVISITED.  — PARIS.  — SWITZERLAND.      331 

but  sixty-eight  years  old,  she  had  long  been  worn  out  in  mind 
and  body  by  hard  work  and  rugged  cares,  and  had  rarely 
spoken  .or  evinced  a  clear  perception  of  what  was  going  on 
around  her  for  many  months  before  her  death. 


As  this  was  my  last  passage  of  the  Atlantic,  I  may  barely 
say  that,  of  all  my  experiences  of  protracted  physical  discom 
fort,  sea-sickness  is  decidedly  the  most  vivid  and  enduring. 
Though  not  now  so  easily  prostrated  as  when  I  first  traversed, 
per  steamboat,  a  corner  of  Lake  Erie,  over  forty  years  ago,  I 
am  never  tossed  on  ocean  billows  without  intense  misery ;  and, 
while  my  first  sea-passage  was  decidedly  my  worst,  owing 
to  the  tempestuous  weather  which  prevailed  throughout,  yet 
my  very  latest  reminiscence  of  the  "  stormy  main  "  —  that  of 
my  passage  from  Aspinwall,  via  Key  West,  to  this  city  in 
September,  1859  —  is  just  the  reverse  of  "a  joy  forever." 
The  Caribbean  Sea  is  not  often  furrowed  so  deeply  as  the 
Atlantic ;  but  its  coral  reefs,  its  weeping  skies,  its  high  tem 
perature,  with  the  crowds  which  usually  throng  its  California 
steamers,  make  it  a  terror  to  the  land-lubbers  from  whom 
Neptune  exacts  tribute  so  persistently  and  distressingly  as 
from  me,  to  whom  an  ocean  voyage  is  never  an  enjoyment,  is 
seldom  less  than  a  torture.  What  science  and  mammoth  ships 
may  do  for  us,  I  will  not  predict ;  but  he  who  shall  teach  us  to 
vanquish  sea-sickness  will  deserve  to  be  honored  and  crowned 
as  one  of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  the  human  race. 


XL. 

TWO    DAYS    IN    JAIL. 

~^HEKE  are  many  ways  of  studying  human  nature ;  many 
JL  diverse  lights  wherein  this  motley  world  is  or  may  be 
contemplated;  I  judge  that  one  of  the  most  instructive 
glimpses  of  it  is  that  which  we  obtain  through  grated  win 
dows.  I  forget,  this  moment,  who  characterizes  the  poet  of 
beggary  and  ruffianism,  Crabbe,  as 

"  Nature's  sternest  painter,  but  the  best "  ; 

yet  I  am  quite  sure  that  one  of  the  most  wholesome  and  prof 
itable,  though  least  pleasant,  experiences  of  my  life,  is  that 
afforded  by  my  confinement  for  forty-eight  hours  (with  a  good 
prospect  of  permanence)  in  the  spacious  debtors'  prison  in 
Paris,  No.  70  Eue  de  Clichy,  known  to  misfortune  as  "  the 
Maison  Clichy,"  and  more  familiarly  to  its  inmates  as  "Clichy" 
merely.  It  happened  thus  :  — 

In  the  years  1852-53,  an  association  of  mainly  wealthy 
and  public-spirited  New-Yorkers  undertook  to  imitate,  if  not 
rival,  the  first  great  Exposition  of  the  World's  Industry  at 
London  in  1851.  So  they  subscribed  capital,  obtained  a 
charter  from  the  State,  and  a  plot  of  vacant  ground  from  the 
city,  employed  architects  and  builders,  and  at  length  con 
structed  on  Reservoir  Square  (Sixth  Avenue  and  Fortieth  to 
Forty-second  Streets),  by  far  the  most  symmetrical  and  spa 
cious  edifice  which  our  country  has  yet  seen.  The  materials 
employed  were  almost  wholly  iron  and  glass,  as  in  the  case  of 
its  London  prototype ;  but,  though  the  British  was  a  superb 
structure,  ours  was  still  more  graceful  and  imposing.  I  doubt 
that  many  are  yet  born  who  will  see  New  York  graced  by  a 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  333 

finer  building  than  was  her  Crystal  Palace,  until  destroyed  by 
fire  in  1858. 

Yet  the  Exhibition  was  doomed  to  failure  from  the  start. 
It  was  located  much  too  far  up  town,  —  as  much  out  of  the 
way  as  it  would  to-day  be  at  Harlem  or  Hoboken,  —  it  was 
but  half  finished,  and  nowise  ready,  when  opened,  —  and  it 
steadily  dragged,  after  the  first  few  days,  until,  at  the  close  of 
the  season,  it  was  found  that  the  million  or  more  of  capital 
stock  was  all  sunk,  and  the  half-million  of  bonds  a  very  du 
bious  investment. 

A  desperate  effort  was  made  to  retrieve  its  fallen  fortunes 
next  Spring ;  and  I,  with  others,  was  then  induced  to  take  a 
hand  in  it  as  a  director  and  (in  a  small  way)  bondholder. 
Mr.  P.  T.  Barnum  was  our  most  active,  efficient  leader  in  this 
desperate  effort  at  resurrection.  There  were  several  more 
directors  who  did  their  very  best;  but  the  year  (1854)  was 
one  of  pecuniary  pressure  and  revulsion,  which  combined  with 
other  influences  to  render  success  impossible.  I  gave  much 
hard  work  and  a  little  money  to  the  attempt,  while  Mr.  Bar 
num  gave  much  more,  but  to  no  purpose  ;  we  barely  paid  our 
heavy  current  expenses ;  and  the  Exposition  closed  with  the 
season,  nearly  as  bankrupt  as  when  we  undertook  to  resusci 
tate  it. 

I  went  to  Europe  the  next  Spring  (1855)  without  a  suspi 
cion  that  I  should  there  be  held  accountable  for  our  inability 
to  wrest  victory  from  defeat ;  yet,  about  4  p.  M.  of  the  2d  day 
of  June,  after  I  had  returned  from  a  day's  observation  in  the 
French  "  Palace  of  Industry,"  I  was  waited  on  at  my  little 
cottage  by  four  French  strangers,  who  soon  gave  me  to  under 
stand  that  they  were  officers  of  the  law,  bearing  a  writ  issued 
by  Judge  de  Belleyme,  of  the  Court  of  Premier  Instance,  at 
the  suit  of  one  M.  Lechesne,  a  Parisian  sculptor,  who  swore 
that  he  had  contributed  to  our  New  York  Exhibition  a  statue 
(in  plaster)  which  had  there  been  broken,  or  mutilated ;  for 
which  he  claimed  of  me,  as  a  director,  "  represontant  et  soli- 
daire,"  of  the  Exhibition,  "douze  mille  francs,"  or  $2,500  in 
gold.  When  we  had,  by  the  help  of  my  courier,  arrived  at 


334  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

some  approach  to  a  mutual  understanding,  one  element  of 
which  was  my  refusal  to  pay  M.  Lechesne  $  2,500,  or  any  sum 
whatever,  they  said  that  I  must  enter  their  carriage  and  ac 
company  them  forthwith  to  the  Judge,  some  three  miles  away; 
which,  attended  by  my  courier,  I  did.  We  had  to  call  for 
Lechesne  and  his  lawyer  by  the  way,  which  consumed  nearly 
an  hour,  —  they  being  in  no  hurry ;  and,  when  we  had  told 
the  Judge  our  respective  stories,  I  proposed  to  go  to  the 
American  Legation  and  persuade  Don  Piatt,  Esq.,  Secretary 
of  Legation,  to  guarantee  my  appearance  for  trial  when  wanted. 
The  Judge  pronounced  this  sufficient;  so  we  set  forth  on 
another  long  ride  to  the  Legation ;  where  not  only  Judge  Piatt, 
but  another  friend,  Maunsel  B.  Field,  Esq.,  offered  himself  as 
security  for  my  appearance  at  court ;  but  now  Lechesne  and 
his  lawyer  refused,  on  the  ground  of  Mr.  Piatt's  exemption 
from  arrest  on  civil  process,  to  take  him  as  security,  or  (in 
fact)  to  take  anything  but  the  cash  they  were  intent  on. 
High  words  passed,  and  a  scuffle  was  imminent,  when  I  in 
sisted  on  being  driven  at  once  to  prison,  —  my  guardians 
having  affected  a  fear  that  I  would  escape  them.  Crossing 
the  Avenue  Champs  Elysee,  densely  thronged  at  that  hour 
(6  P.  M.),  our  carriage  came  into  violent  collision  with  another, 
and  was  disabled ;  when  a  very  superfluous  display  of  vigi 
lance  and  pistols  was  made  by  my  keepers,  who  could  not  be 
persuaded  that  I  was  intent  on  sticking  to  them  like  a  brother. 
At  last,  a  little  before  7  P.  M.,  we  reached  our  destination,  and 
I  was  admitted,  through  several  gigantic  iron  doors,  witli 
gloomy  crypts  between  them,  to  the  office  of  the  prison,  where 
I  was  told  that  I  must  stay  till  9 \  p.  M.,  because  the  Judge 
had  allowed  me  so  long  to  procure  bail.  Here  my  guardians 
left  me  in  safe-keeping,  while  I  ordered  a  frugal  dinner,  in 
stead  of  the  sumptuous  public  one  at  the  Trois  Freres,  given 
by  Mr.  M.  B.  Field,  which  I  had  been  invited,  and  had  fully 
expected,  to  attend ;  and  I  sent  my  courier  home  to  quiet  the 
apprehensions  of  my  family,  who  as  yet  knew  only  that  some 
strangers  had  called  for  me,  and  that  I  had  gone  off  with  them. 
Very  soon,  Judge  Mason  (John  Y.),  our  Ambassador,  called, 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  335 

and  was  admitted  to  see  me,  though  it  was  now  too  late  by 
the  regulations.  I  explained  the  matter  to  him,  assured  him 
that  I  wanted  nothing  but  a  good  lawyer,  and  insisted  on 
viewing  the  whole  matter  in  a  more  cheerful  light  than  it 
wore  in  his  eyes.  "  But  your  wife  will  surely  be  distressed 
by  it,"  he  urged ;  "  she  being  an  utter  stranger  here,  with  two 
young  children."  "No,"  I  replied;  "a  trifle  might  annoy 
her ;  but  this  matter  looks  serious,  and  it  will  only  calm  and 
strengthen  her.  I  have  sent  our  courier  to  assure  her  that  it 
is  all  right,  and  request  her  to  keep  away  from  this,  and  go 
on  with  her  visiting  and  sight-seeing,  as  though  nothing  had 
happened."  "  I  have  heard  you  called  a  philosopher,  and  I 
now  see  that  you  deserve  the  distinction,"  was  the  Judge's 
rejoinder,  as,  at  my  request,  he  left  me. 

Half  an  hour  had  scarcely  passed,  giving  me  barely  time  to 
eat  my  dinner,  when  my  wife  was  ushered  in,  accompanied 
by  Mrs.  Piatt  and  our  little  son,  whose  eyes  were  distended 
with  grave  wonder  at  the  iron  barriers  through  which  he  had 
reached  me.  "  Good  woman,"  I  observed  to  Mrs.  Greeley,  "  I 
have  been  bragging  to  Judge  Mason  how  quietly  you  would 
take  this  mischance ;  but  here  you  are  in  jail  at  nightfall, 
when  visitors  are  not  allowed,  as  though  you  were  addicted 
to  hysterics."  "  But  consider,"  she  urged  in  mitigation,  "  that 
I  first  heard  of  your  position  from  Francis  [our  courier],  who 
comes  flying  home  to  assure  me  that  there  is  nothing  serious, 
to  urge  me  not  to  be  frightened,  when  he  is  trembling  all  over 
with  anxiety  and  terror.  Hardly  had  he  left  the  room,  when 
Mrs.  Piatt  comes  in  equal  haste  to  beg  me  to  fear  nothing,  — 
that  all  is  but  a  trifle,  —  and  she  is  quite  as  agitated  and  panic- 
stricken  as  Francis.  Neither  of  them  seems  to  understand 
the  matter ;  so  I  thought  I  must  come  to  you  for  an  explana 
tion."  This  I  gave ;  when  they  departed ;  and  I  was  at  last 
allowed  to  go  up  to  my  lodging,  which  I  find  thus  described 
in  my  letter  thence  to  The  Tribune  :  — 

"By  10  o'clock,  each  of  us  lodgers  had  retired  to  our  several 
apartments  (each  eight  feet  by  five),  and  an  obliging  functionary 
came  around  and  locked  out  all  rascally  intruders.  I  don't  think 


336  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

I  ever  before  slept  in  a  place  so  perfectly  secure.  At  6  this 
morning,  this  extra  protection  was  withdrawn,  and  each  of  us  was 
thenceforth  required  to  keep  watch  over  his  own  valuables.  We 
uniformly  keep  good  hours  here  in  Clichy,  which  is  a  virtue  that 
not  many  large  hotels  in  Paris  can  boast  of. 

"The  bedroom  appointments  are  not  of  a  high  order,  as  is 
reasonable,  since  we  are  only  charged  for  them  four  sous  (cents) 
per  night,  —  washing  extra.  The  sheets  are  rather  of  a  hickory 
sort,  but  mine  were  given  to  me  clean ;  the  bed  is  indifferent,  but- 
I  have  slept  on  worse ;  the  window  lacks  a  curtain  or  blind,  but  in 
its  stead  there  are  four  strong  upright  iron  bars,  which  are  a  per 
fect  safeguard  against  getting  up  in  the  night,  and  falling  or  pitch 
ing  out,  so  as  to  break  your  neck,  as  any  one  who  fell  thence  would 
certainly  do.  (I  am  in  the  fifth  or  highest  story.)  Perhaps  one 
of  my  predecessors  was  a  somnambulist.  I  have  two  chairs,  two 
little  tables  (probably  one  of  them  extra,  through  some  mistake), 
and  a  cupboard  which  may  once  have  been  clean.  The  pint  wash 
bowl,  half-pint  pitcher,  &c.,  I  have  ordered,  and  am  to  pay  extra 
for.  I  am  a  little  ashamed  to  own  that  my  repose  has  been  in 
different  ;  but  then  I  never  do  sleep  well  in  a  strange  place." 

As  it  was  Saturday  evening  when  I  was  taken  to  jail,  I 
could  not  expect  a  release  before  Monday ;  in  fact,  the  lawyers 
who  were  applied  to  in  my  behalf  had  all  gone  out  of  town, 
and  could  not  be  found  till  that  day.  I  rose  on  Sunday  morn 
ing  in  a  less  placid  frame  of  mind  than  I  had  cherished  over 
night,  and  devoted  a  good  part  of  the  day  to  concocting  an 
account  of  the  matter  meant  to  be  satirical,  and  to  "  chaff" 
mankind  in  general  by  contrasting  the  ways  of  Clichy  with 
those  of  the  outside  world,  to  the  dispraise  of  the  latter.  Here 
is  a  specimen  :  — 

"  I  say  nothing  of  '  Liberty,'  save  to  caution  outsiders  in  France 
to  be  equally  modest ;  but  *  Equality '  and  '  Fraternity '  I  have 
found  here  more  thoroughly  than  elsewhere  in  Europe.  Still,  we 
have  not  realized  the  social  millennium,  even  in  Clichy.  Some  of 
us  were  wont  to  gain  our  living  by  the  hardest  and  most  meagrely 
rewarded  labor ;  others  to  live  idly  and  sumptuously  on  the  earn 
ings  of  others.  Of  course,  these  vices  of  an  irrational  and  decaying 
social  state  are  not  instantly  eradicated  by  our  abrupt  transfer  to 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  337 

this  mansion.  Some  of  us  can  cook ;  while  others  only  know  how 
to  eat,  and  so  require  assistance  in  the  preparation  of  our  food,  as 
none  is  cooked  or  even  provided  for  us,  and  our  intercourse  with 
the  outer  world  is  subject  to  limitations.  Those  of  us  who  lived 
generously  aforetime,  and  are  in  for  gentlemanly  sums,  are  very 
apt  to  have  money ;  while  the  luckless  chaps  who  were  sent  here 
for  owing  a  beggarly  hundred  francs  or  so,  and  have  no  fixed  income 
beyond  the  single  franc  per  day  which  each  creditor  must  pay,  or 
his  debtor  is  turned  loose,  are  very  glad  to  earn  money  by  doing 
us  acts  of  kindness.  One  of  these  attached  himself  to  me  immedi 
ately  on  my  induction  into  my  apartment,  and  proceeded  to  make 
my  bed,  bring  me  a  pitcher  of  water  and  wash-bowl,  matches, 
lights,  £c.,  for  which  I  expect  to  pay  him,  —  these  articles  being 
reckoned  superfluities  in  Clichy.  But  no  such  aristocratic  distinc 
tion  as  master  —  no  such  degrading  appellation  as  servant  —  is 
tolerated  in  this  community  :  this  philanthropic  fellow-boarder  is 
known  to  all  here  as  my  'auxiliary.'  Where  has  the  stupid  world 
outside  known  how  to  drape  the  hard  realities  of  life  with  fig-leaf 
so  graceful  as  this  ? 

"  So  of  all  titular  distinctions.  We  pretend  that  we  have  abjured 
titles  of  honor  in  America ;  and  the  consequence  is  that  every  one 
has  a  title,  —  either  *  Honorable,'  or  '  General,'  or  '  Colonel,'  or 
'  Reverend,'  or,  at  the  very  least,  '  Esquire.'  But  here  in  Clichy 
all  such  empty  and  absurd  prefixes  or  suffixes  are  absolutely  un 
known  ;  even  names,  Christian  or  family,  are  discarded  as  useless, 
antiquated  lumber.  Every  lodger  is  known  by  the  number  of  his 
apartment  only,  which  no  one  thinks  of  designating  a  cell.  Mine 
is  139  :  so,  whenever  a  friend  calls,  he  gives  two  cents  to  a  'com 
missionaire,'  who  comes  in  from  the  outer  regions  to  the  great  hall 
sacred  to  our  common  use,  and  begins  calling  out  cent-trente-neuf 
(phonetically  '  son-tran-nuf ')  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  goes  on, 
yelling  as  he  climbs,  in  the  hope  of  finding  or  calling  me  short  of 
ascending  to  my  fifth-story  sanctuary.  To  nine-tenths  of  my  com 
rades  in  adversity  I  am  known  only  as  '  son-tran-nuf.'  My  auxili 
ary  is  No.  54  ;  so  I,  when  I  need  his  aid,  go  singing  '  sankon-cat,' 
after  the  same  fashion.  Equality  being  thus  rigidly  preserved, 
maugre  some  diversities  of  fortune,  the  jealousies,  rivalries,  and 
heart-burnings,  which  keep  the  mass  of  mankind  in  a  ferment,  are 
here  absolutely  unknown.  I  never  before  talked  with  so  many 
22 


338  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

people  intimate  with  each  other  without  hearing  something  said  or 
insinuated  to  one  another's  prejudice  ;  here,  there  is  nothing  of  the 
sort.  Some  folks  outside  are  fitted  with  reputations  which  they 
would  hardly  consider  flattering,  —  some  laws  and  usages  get  the 
blessing  they  so  richly  deserve,  —  but  among  ourselves  is  naught 
but  harmony  and  good-will.  How  would  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  or  even 
the  Tuileries,  like  to  compare  notes  with  us  on  this  head  1 " 

A  Yankee  prisoner,  who  had  seen  me  in  New  York,  recog 
nized  me  as  I  came  down  stairs  on  Sunday  morning,  and 
blazoned  his  inference  that  I  was  in  jail  by  some  mistake,  — 
so  I  was  soon  surrounded  by  sympathizing  fellow  jail-birds, 
several  of  whom  were  no  more  justly  liable  to  imprisonment 
than  I  was.  In  a  little  while,  M.  Vattemare,  well  known  in 
his  day  as  the  projector  of  systematic  international  exchanges 
of  books  and  documents,  having  heard  of  my  luck  at  Mr. 
Field's  dinner  the  evening  previous,  made  his  way  in,  with 
proffers  of  service,  which  I  turned  to  account  by  obtaining, 
through  him,  from  some  great  library,  copies  of  the  Revised 
Statutes  and  Session  Laws  of  New  York,  which  clearly  demon 
strated  my  legal  irresponsibility  to  M.Lechesne  for  his  damaged 
statue.  Soon,  other  friends  began  to  pour  in,  with  offers  of 
money  and  service  ;  but  I  could  not  afford  to  be  bailed  out  nor 
bought  out,  as  fifty  others  would  thereby  be  tempted  to  repeat 
M.  Lechesne's  experiment  upon  me,  —  so  I  was  compelled  to 
send  them  away,  with  my  grateful  acknowledgments. 

Among  my  visitors  was  M.  Hector  Bossange,  the  well- 
known  publisher,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  call  at  my 
rooms  each  Sunday,  as  he  did  on  this  one,  and  was  soon  asked 
by  my  wife,  "  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Greeley  ? "  "  Seen  him  !" 
he  perplexedly  responded,  "  I  do  not  understand  you ;  have 
I  not  called  to  see  him  ? "  "  Then  you  have  not  heard  that 
he  is  in  prison  ? "  "In  prison  ? "  he  wildly  inquired ;  "  what 
can  that  mean  ? "  "I  do  not  well  understand  it  myself,"  she 
replied;  "but  it  has  some  connection  with  our  New  York 
Crystal  Palace."  "  0,  it  is  money, —  is  it  ?"  joyfully  rejoined 
M.  Bossange ;  "  then  we  will  soon  have  him  out,  —  I  feared  it 
was  politics  I "  He  knew  that  I  was  a  furious  anti-Imperialist, 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  339 

and  feared  that  I  had  rashly  involved  myself  in  some  plot 
that  exposed  me  to  arrest  as  an  apostle  of  sedition,  —  an 
enemy  of  "  Order." 

Our  remaining  visitors  having  been  barred  out  when  the 
clock  struck  4  p.  M.,  we  two  Americans,  with  two  Englishmen, 
a  Frenchman,  and  an  Italian,  sent  out  our  order,  and  had  our 
dinner  in  the  cell  of  one  of  us,  who,  being  an  old  settler,  had 
an  apartment  somewhat  more  roomy  and  less  exalted  than 
mine.  Each  brought  to  the  common  "  spread  "  whatever  he 
had  of  table-ware  or  pocket-cutlery ;  arid  the  aggregate,  though 
there  were  still  deficiencies,  answered  the  purpose.  The  din 
ner  cost  fifty  cents  per  head,  of  which  a  part  went  as  toll  to 
some  officer  or  turnkey,  and  there  was  still  a  good  margin  of 
profit  to  the  restaurateur.  Still,  there  was  wine  for  those  who 
would  drink  it ;  but  stronger  liquors  are  not  allowed  in  Clichy, 
in  spite  of  the  assurance,  so  often  heard,  that  prohibitory 
legislation  is  unknown  in  France.  A  flask  of  cut-throat-look 
ing  brandy  had,  however,  been  smuggled  in  for  one  of  our 
party ;  and  this  was  handed  around  and  sipped  as  though  it 
were  nectar.  Men  love  to  circumvent  the  laws  for  the  grati 
fication  of  their  appetites ;  and  yet  I  judge  that  not  one  gill 
of  spirits  is  drank  in  Clichy,  where  quarts  were  poured  down 
while  every  one  was  free  to  order  and  drink  so  long  as  he 
could  pay. 

I  presume  I  had  had  more  calls  that  day  than  any  other 
prisoner,  though  Sunday  is  specially  devoted  to  visits ;  and, 
though  grateful  for  the  kindness  and  zeal  for  my  release 
evinced  by  several  of  my  friends,  I  was  thoroughly  weary 
when  the  lingerers  were  invited  to  take  their  departure,  and 
the  doors  clanged  heavily  behind  them.  I  could  then  appre 
ciate  the  politeness  with  which  M.  Ouvrard,  Napoleon's  great 
army-contractor,  after  he  had  fallen  into  embarrassments  and 
been  lodged  in  Clichy  by  his  inexorable  creditors,  was  accus 
tomed,  when  visitors  called,  to  send  to  the  grating  his  faithful 
valet,  who,  with  the  politest  bow  and  shrug  whereof  he  was 
master,  would  say,  "  I  am  sorry,  sir,  —  very  sorry ;  but  my 
master,  M.  Ouvrard,  is  out."  This  was  not  even  the  "  white 


340  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

lie  "  often  instigated  by  good  society ;  since  the  visitor  could 
not  fail  to  understand  that  the  great  bankrupt  could  be  out  in 
none  other  than  that  conventional,  metaphorical  sense  which 
implies  merely  preoccupation,  or  unwillingness  to  be  button 
holed  and  bored. 

No  prisoner  in  Clichy  is  obliged  to  see  a  visitor  unless  of 
his  own  choice ;  and,  as  one  is  frequently  called  down  to  the 
grating  to  have  a  fresh  writ  served  on  him,  thereby  magnify 
ing  the  obstacles  to  his  liberation,  the  rule  that  a  visitor  must 
make  a  minute  of  his  errand  on  his  card,  and  send  it  up,  before 
an  interview  is  accorded,  is  one  founded  in  reason,  and  very 
generally  and  properly  adhered  to.  Yet  a  fellow-prisoner, 
who  received  notice  that  he  was  called  for  at  the  grate,  went 
recklessly  down  on  the  day  after  my  incarceration,  only  to 
greet  a  tip-staff,  and  be  served  with  a  fresh  writ.  "  Sir,"  said 
the  beguiled  and  indignant  boarder  at  this  city  hermitage, 
"  if  you  ever  serve  me  such  a  trick  again,  you  will  go  out  of 
here  half  killed."  Some  official  underling  was  violently  sus 
pected  of  lending  himself  to  this  stratagem ;  and  great  was 
the  indignation  excited  thereby  throughout  our  community ; 
but  the  victim  had  only  himself  to  blame,  for  not  standing  on 
his  reserved  rights,  and  respecting  the  usages  and  immunities 
of  our  sanctuary. 

I  was  puzzled,  but  not  offended,  at  a  question  put  me  the 
moment  I  had  fairly  entered  the  prison :  "  Have  you  ever 
been  confined  here  before  ? "  I  respectfully,  but  positively, 
replied  in  the  negative,  —  that  this  was  my  first  experience  of 
the  kind.  I  soon  learned,  however,  that  the  question  was  a 
prescribed  and  necessary  one,  —  that,  if  I  had  ever  before  been 
imprisoned  on  this  allegation  of  debt,  or  on  any  other,  and 
this  had  been  lodged  against  me,  I  was  not  liable  to  a  fresh 
detention  thereon,  but  must  at  once  be  discharged.  The  rule 
is  a  good  one ;  and,  though  I  was  unable  t/ien  to  profit  by  it, 
it  may  serve  me  another  time. 

My  general  conclusion,  from  all  I  observed  and  heard  in 
Clichy,  imports  that  imprisonment  for  debt  was  never  a  bar 
to  improvidence,  nor  a  curb  to  prodigality ;  that,  in  so  far  as 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  341 

it  ever  aided  or  hastened  the  collection  of  honest  debts,  it 
wrenched  five  dollars  from  sympathizing  relatives  and  friends 
for  every  one  exacted  from  the  debtors  themselves  ;  and  that 
it  was,  and  could  not  fail  to  be,  fruitful  only  in  oppression 
and  extortion,  —  much  oftener  enforcing  the  payment  of  unjust 
claims  than  of  just  ones.  Let  whoever  will  sneer  at  human 
progress  and  uneasy,  meddling  philanthropy,  I  am  grateful 
that  I  have  lived  in  the  age  which  gave  the  death-blow  to 
Slavery  and  to  Imprisonment  for  Debt. 


To  get  into  prison  is  a  feat  easy  of  achievement  by  almost  any 
one  ;  it  is  quite  otherwise  with  getting  out.  You  cannot  fully 
realize  how  rigid  stone  walls  and  iron  doors  are  till  they  stand 
between  you  and  sunshine,  impeding  locomotion,  and  forbid 
ding  any  but  the  most  limited  change  of  place.  The  restless 
anxiety  of  prisoners  for  release,  no  matter  how  light  their  cares, 
how  ample  their  apartments,  how  generous  their  fare,  can 
never  be  appreciated  by  one  who  has  not  had  a  massive  key 
turned  upon  him,  and  found  himself  on  the  wrong  side  of  an 
impregnable  wall.  Doubtless,  we  hear  much  nonsense  where 
of  "  Liberty  "  is  the  burden ;  but,  if  you  are  sceptical  as  to  the 
essential  worth  of  Freedom,  just  allow  yourself  to  be  locked 
up  for  a  while,  with  no  clear  prospect  of  liberation  at  any 
specified  or  definite  time.  Though  I  was  but  forty-eight  hours 
in  Clichy,  time  dragged  heavily  on  my  hands,  after  the  friends 
who,  in  generous  profusion,  visited  me  on  Sunday  had  been 
barred  and  locked  out,  and  I  was  left  for  a  second  night  to 
my  fellow  jail-birds  and  my  gloomy  reflections.  "  I  can't  get 
out "  was  the  melancholy  plaint  of  Sterne's  starling ;  and  I 
had  occasion  to  believe  that  so  many  detainers  or  claims  simi 
lar  to  Lechesne's  would,  on  Monday,  be  lodged  against  me,  as 
to  render  doubtful  my  release  for  weeks,  if  not  for  months. 

It  was  late  on  Monday  morning  before  my  active  friends 
outside  could  procure  me  the  help  I  needed ;  but,  when  they 
did,  I  had,  through  M.  Vattemare's  valued  aid,  the  books  I 
required,  and  had  my  references  and  citations  all  ready  for 


342  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

service.  With  these  in  hand,  my  lawyers  went  before  Jud^e 
de  Belleyme  to  procure  iny  release ;  but  M.  Vattemare  had 
been  there  already,  as  well  as  to  M.  de  Langle,  the  judge  of 
a  still  higher  court,  to  testify  that  the  Americans  were  gener 
ally  indignant  at  iny  incarceration,  and  were  threatening  to 
leave  Paris  in  a  body  if  I  were  not  promptly  liberated.  Even 
M.  James  Eothschild,  I  was  told,  had  made  an  indignant 
speech  about  it  at  a  dinner  on  Saturday  evening ;  saying  to 
his  friends  :  "  We  are  most  of  us  directors  in  the  Exposition 
now  in  progress  here,  and  of  course  liable  to  be  arrested  and 
imprisoned  in  any  foreign  country  we  may  visit,  on  a  com 
plaint  that  some  one  has  had  articles  damaged  or  lost  here,  if 
Mr.  Greeley  may  be  so  held  in  this  action." 

These  representations  impelled  M.  de  Belleyme  to  say,  in 
perfect  truth,  that  he  had  not  ordered  my  imprisonment,  — 
on  the  contrary,  he  had  directed  the  plaintiff  and  his  lawyer 
to  take  Mr.  Don  Piatt's  guaranty  that  I  should  be  on  hand, 
when  wanted,  to  respond  to  this  action.  So  when,  at  the 
instance  of  my  lawyers,  M.  Lechesne  and  his  attorney  were 
called  to  confront  them  before  the  Judge  on  Monday,  and 
were  asked  by  him  how  they  came  to  take  me  to  Clichy, 
under  the  circumstances,  they  could  only  stammer  out  that 
they  had  reflected  that  Mr.  Piatt  was  not  subject  to  imprison 
ment  in  like  case,  —  therefore,  his  guaranty  was  no  security. 
This,  of  course,  did  not  satisfy  the  Judge,  who  ordered  my 
release  on  the  instant ;  so  by  4  P.  M.  all  formalities  were 
concluded,  and  my  lawyers  appeared  with  the  documents 
required  to  turn  me  into  the  street.  Meantime,  I  had  had  so 
many  visitors,  who  sent  up  good-looking  cards,  and  wore 
honest  faces,  that  I  had  manifestly  risen  in  the  estimation  of 
iny  jailers,  who  had  begun  to  treat  me  with  ample  considera 
tion. 

The  neighboring  servants,  who  were  intimate  with  ours,  had 
witnessed  my  departure  with  the  officers,  and  knew,  of  course, 
that  this  was  an  arrest,  but  pretended  to  our  servants  not  to 
understand  it.  One  after  another  of  them  would  call  on  our 
employees  to  ask,  "  Why,  where  is  Mr.  Greeley  ? "  "  He  has 


TWO  DAYS  IN  JAIL.  343 

gone  over  to  London  on  a  little  business,"  was  the  prompt 
reply,  "  and  will  be  back  in  a  day  or  two."  This  was  accepted 
with  many  a  sly  wink  and  gentle  shrug  ;  the  inquisitors  hav 
ing  obviously  united  in  the  conclusion  that  I  was  a  swindler, 
who  had  robbed  some  bank  or  vault,  and  fled  from  my  own 
country  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  my  depredations.  When,  how 
ever,  I  came  quietly  home  in  a  cab  about  the  time  indicated 
by  our  servants,  they  greatly  exulted  over  the  hoped-for,  rather 
than  expected,  denouement,  while  their  good-natured  friends 
were  correspondingly  disconcerted  by  the  failure  of  their  cal 
culations.  On  our  part,  we  resumed  at  once  our  round  of 
visiting  and  sight-seeing,  as  though  nothing  had  happened ; 
but  my  little  son's  flying  hair  and  radiant  face,  as  he  rushed 
down  stairs  to  greet  my  return,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten. 
He  had  been  told  that  it  was  all  right,  when  he  found  and 
left  me  in  prison,  and  had  tried  hard  to  believe  it ;  but  my 
return,  unattended  and  unguarded,  he  knew  to  be  right. 


I  had  a  tedious  legal  squabble  thereafter,  —  for  my  libera 
tion  did  not,  of  course,  abate  M.  Lechesne's  suit  against  me,  — 
and  had  to  send  to  New  York  for  documents  and  affidavits ; 
meantime  going  to  Switzerland  with  my  family,  as  I  have 
already  related,  —  and  I  was  signally  aided  in  my  defence  by 
Hon.  Elihu  B.  Washburne,  of  Illinois,  who  happened  to 
be  in  Paris  at  the  time ;  but,  as  there  was  really  no  case 
against  me,  I  was  at  length  enabled  to  demonstrate  that  fact 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  functionary  who  had  been  deputed 
to  hear  and  report  on  the  suit  to  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce, 
before  which  I  had  been  cited  by  Lechesne,  —  a  proceeding 
wholly  illegal,  my  lawyers  asserted,  as  neither  party  to  the 
action  was  a  merchant.  My  counsel  wished  to  demur  to  the 
jurisdiction,  saying  that  the  Tribunal  was  not  a  court  of  law, 
and  always  decided  for  a  Frenchman  against  a  foreigner,  no 
matter  how  unjustly.  At  length,  however,  when  my  docu 
ments  arrived  from  New  York,  they  could  hold  off  no  longer, 
but  went  before  the  officer  in  question,  where  my  opponents 


344  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

were  most  reluctant  to  meet  them,  asking  for  time  to  send  to 
America  for  documents  also  !  We  understood  that  this  was 
only  a  pretext  to  avoid  a  judgment  for  costs,  —  they  did  not 
really  want  to  send  to  America,  and  did  not  send.  We  let 
them  off  on  that  excuse,  however,  and  I  came  away,  —  leav 
ing  the  suit  stone  dead. 


I  rejoice  that  imprisonment  for  debt  was  recently  abolished 
in  France,  —  I  trust  forever.  I  doubt  that  it  ever  made  one 
debtor  even  outwardly  honest ;  I  am  sure  it  often  compelled  the 
relatives  and  friends  of  prodigals  to  pay  debts  which  should 
never  have  been  contracted.  It  is  wrong  —  it  is  immoral  — 
to  trust  those  who  do  not  deserve  credit,  —  it  is  doubly  wrong 
to  impose  the  payment  of  such  debts  upon  some  frugal  uncle 
or  brother  of  the  debtor,  in  pity  for  that  debtor's  weeping  wife 
and  children.  "  Let  every  tub  stand  on  its  own  bottom  "  is  a 
sound  rule,  which  imprisonment  for  debt  tends  strongly  to 
subvert.  Men  are  trusted  w^ho  should  not  be,  on  the  calcula 
tion,  "  I  can  get  my  pay  out  of  his  relatives  by  putting  him 
into  jail";  hence  tavern-scores  and  merchants'  accounts  where 
cash  down  would  have  precluded  extravagance  and  dissipa 
tion.  The  civilized  world  is  not  yet  prepared  for  the  repeal 
of  all  laws  designed  to  enforce  the  collection  of  simple  debts 
(not  trusts) ;  but  this  reform  must  come  in  due  time,  when 
mankind  will  wonder  why  it  could  so  long  have  been  re 
sisted.  False  credit  —  credit  to  those  who  do  not  deserve, 
and  will  be  rather  harmed  than  helped  by  it  —  is  the  bane  of 
our  civilization.  Every  second  man  you  meet  is  struggling 
with  debts  which  he  should  never  have  contracted.  We  need 
a  legal  reform,  which  will  greatly  diminish  our  current  facili 
ties  for  running  into  debt. 


XLI. 


"THE  BANKS  CONGRESS." -- THE  LONG-  CONTEST  FOR 
SPEAKER. 


I  HAD  often,  since  the  establishment  of  The  Tribune,  run 
down  to  Washington  for  a  very  few  days  ;  but  never,  save 
when  for  ninety  days  a  member  of  the  House,  had  I  been 
tempted  to  protract  my  stay  there ;  and  my  associates  had 
repeatedly  regretted  that  I  could  not  be  induced  to  spend 
more  time  at  the  political  metropolis.  Reflecting  on  this, 
and  on  the  probabilities  of  a  long  and  doubtful  struggle  for 
the  Speakership  of  the  XXXIVth  Congress,  I  resolved, 
while  staying  in  Paris  in  the  Summer  of  1855,  that  I  would 
visit  Washington  before  the  opening  of  that  Congress,  and 
remain  there  until  requested  by  my  associates  in  business  to 
return  to  New  York,  —  a  resolve  of  which  I  gave  them  due 
notice.  When  the  roll  of  the  new  House  was  first  called,  at 
noon  on  Monday,  December  3,  I  was  looking  on  from  a 
reporter's  desk;  and  I  remained  in  observation  for  many 
weeks  thereafter. 

That  House  was  constituted  as  no  other  has  ever  yet  been. 
No  party  had  a  majority  of  its  members,  while  two  separate 
organizations  seemed  to  have.  The  "  Americans  "  had  chosen  > 
a  majority ;  so  had  the  "  Republicans,"  or  opponents  of  the 
policy  embodied  in  the  Nebraska  Bill ;  but  the  lines  of  these 
two  organizations  ran  into  and  crossed  each  other.  We  Re 
publicans  who  were  an  ti-"  Know-Nothing  "  were  perfectly 
willing  to  support  an  anti-Nebraska  "  American  "  for  Speaker ; 
but  nearly  all  the  Southern  "  Americans  "  would  support  no 
candidate  who  was  in  principle  a  Republican.  Thus,  there 


346  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

was  in  fact  no  majority  of  any  party,  and  a  long,  bitter,  ex 
citing  struggle  for  the  organization  was  inevitable. 

The  Democrats  held  a  caucus,  as  usual,  and  nominated 
William  A.  Richardson,  of  Illinois,   for  Speaker;  but  they 
could  give  him,  at  the  utmost,  but  80  votes,  and  actuaUy  did 
give  him,  on  the  first  ballot,  but  74.     The  Southern  "  Ameri 
cans"  mainly  supported  Humphrey  Marshall;  of  Kentucky, 
who  had  30  votes  on  the  first  ballot ;  but  they  were  ready  to 
vote  for  any  Northern  "Know-Nothing"  who  was  not  in 
principle  a  Republican,  and  Henry  M.  Fuller,  of  Pennsylva 
nia,  had  17  votes,  mainly  from  the  South.     The  Republicans 
and  anti-Nebraska  "Americans"    had   held  no  caucus  and 
made  no  nominations ;   but  they  cast,  on  the  first  ballot,  53 
votes  for  Lewis  D.  Campbell  of  Ohio,  21  for  Nathaniel  P. 
Banks  of  Massachusetts,  7  for  Alexander  C.  M.  Pennington  of 
New  Jersey,  and  there  were  23  scattering  votes,  mainly  theirs. 
Four  ballots  were  taken  that  day,  with  no  material  variation 
from  the  foregoing  result ;  when  the  House  adjourned.     The 
next  day,  five  ballots  were   taken,  —  Mr.  Richardson's  vote 
being  increased  (by  a  fresh  arrival)  to  75,  Mr.  Banks's  to  31, 
and  Mr.  Fuller's  (at  the  expense  of  Humphrey  Marshall's)  to 
21 ;  when  the  House  again  adjourned.     The  next  day,  Mr. 
Campbell's  vote  was  run  up  to  81,  at  Mr.  Banks's  expense ; 
but  he  thenceforth  began  to  fall  off;   and  on  Friday,  having 
just  received  75  votes,  he  formally  declined ;  stating  that  he 
was  satisfied  that  he  could  not  be  elected  without  either  repu 
diating  his  well-known  American  and  anti-Nebraska  princi 
ples,  or  making  pledges  regarding  the  formation  of  Commit 
tees  that  would  justly  expose  him  to  public  contempt.     Mr. 
Banks  now  received  41  votes;   thence  steadily  and  rapidly 
increasing,  until,  on  the  thirty-seventh  ballot,  he  had  107; 
still  lacking  six  more  to  elect  him  ;  Richardson  having  76  and 
Fuller  28,  with  13  scattering,  mainly  Southern  "Americans." 
Thenceforth,  the  struggle  went  on,  with  no  change  but  that 
caused  by  occasional  absences  of  members  of  either  party, 
generally  paired,  but  relieved  by  fitful  debates  on  party  ques 
tions, —  sometimes  lasting  through  a  day  or  more,  until,  on 


"BANKS  CONGRESS."— CONTEST  FOR  SPEAKER.    347 

the  22d,  Mr.  Stan  ton,  of  Ohio,  first  moved  that  a  plurality 
vote  (the  highest)  should  thereafter  suffice  to  elect;  which 
was  promptly  laid  on  the  table,  by  114  Yeas  to  107  Nays,— 
the  latter  being  the  Republicans  or  Banks  men,  outvoted  by 
the  combined  strength  of  all  the  other  parties.  This  motion 
was  repeatedly  renewed  by  Republicans,  with  no  better  suc 
cess  ;  and  the  House  once  voted  not  to  adjourn  till  a  Speaker 
should  be  chosen ;  but,  after  a  tedious  and  excited  night  ses 
sion,  this  resolve  was  rescinded,  and  the  debating,  with  occa 
sional  ballotings,  continued.  On  the  27th,  so  many  members, 
mainly  Southern,  had  gone  home  to  spend  Christmas,  that 
Mr.  Banks  needed  a  change  of  but  3  votes  to  elect  him,  —  he 
having  100  to  105  for  all  others.  On  several  of  the  succeed 
ing  ballots  during  the  holidays,  Mr.  Banks  lacked  but  3  and 
then  4  votes  of  a  majority ;  but,  as  the  absent  members 
returned,  the  prospect  of  an  election  receded.  At  length,  on 
the  21st  of  January,  Mr.  Albert  Rust  (since  a  Rebel  Briga 
dier)  of  Arkansas  moved  the  following  :  — 

"  Whereas,  One  hundred  and  eighteen  ineffectual  efforts  to  elect 
a  Speaker,  in  which  the  votes  have  been  divided  among  Mr.  Banks, 
Mr.  Richardson,  Mr.  Fuller,  and  Mr.  Pennington,  must  have  made 
it  manifest  to  those  gentlemen  and  this  Congress  that  neither  of 
them  is  the  choice  of  a  majority  of  the  members  of  this  House 
for  its  presiding  officer,  and  that  a  longer  persistence  on  the  part 
of  their  respective  friends  in  urging  their  names  for  this  office 
will  only  delay  the  organization  of  this  House,  and  thereby  pre 
vent  immediate  legislation,  when  the  common  interests  of  the 
whole  country  require  it :  Therefore, 

"  Resolved,  That  it  is  the  sense  of  this  House  that  Messrs.  Banks, 
Richardson,  Fuller,  and  Pennington,  by  withdrawing  their  names, 
and  forbidding  their  use  as  candidates  for  the  Speakership,  would 
remove  certain  and  insurmountable  obstacles  to  its  organization, 
and  that  the  public  interests  would  be  greatly  promoted  by  their 
doing  so." 

Hereupon,  Messrs.  Fuller  and  Pennington  promptly  gave 
notice  that  they  were  no  longer  candidates  for  Speaker.  Mr. 
Rust,  finding  impediments  to  their  present  consideration, 


348  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

withdrew  his  preamble  and  resolve,  giving  notice  that  lie 
would  reoffer  them  on  the  morrow. 

I  listened  to  his  proposition  with  intense  indignation.  It 
was  based  on  an  assumption  notoriously  false,  —  namely,  that 
the  organization  of  the  House  was  impeded  by  personal  aspi 
rations  and  rivalries,  —  when  all  knew  that  the  conflict  was 
one  of  principles,  and  that  Rust  himself  was  invincibly 
hostile  to  Banks  only  because  Banks  represented  resistance 
to  the  further  diffusion  of  Slavery.  And  Mr.  Banks's  sup 
porters,  with  his  hearty  concurrence,  had  once  and  again 
offered  to  let  a  plurality  choose,  so  that  his  and  their  oppo 
nents  would  be  compelled  to  concentrate  their  strength  or 
submit  to  a  defeat.  So  far  as  the  Republicans  were  con 
cerned,  they  had  long  stood  ready  and  eager  to  close  the  con 
test  in  the  only  practicable  way ;  and  it  was  a  wrong  and  an 
insult  for  the  antagonist  parties,  who  could  not  unite  on  a 
candidate;  to  combine  their  forces  for  the  purpose  of  driving 
from  the  field  the  chosen  candidate  of  the  Republicans. 
This  dictating  by  one  side  who  should  or  should  not  be  sup 
ported  by  the  other  seemed  to  me  a  gross  outrage ;  and  I  so 
characterized  it  in  my  despatches  and  letters  to  The  Tribune. 

Mr.  Rust  renewed  his  proposition  on  the  23d ;  when  the 
House  refused  to  order  the  main  question  upon  it,  and  it 
went  over  under  the  rule  to  the  next  day ;  when,  on  motion 
of  Mr.  Pringle,  of  New  York,  it  was  laid 'on  the  table  by  100 
to  99. 

I  believe  it  was  on  this  day  that,  just  after  the  House  had 
adjourned,  and  while  all  in  attendance  were  returning  to 
their  respective  lodgings,  I  was  accosted  by  a  stout,  athletic 
man  whom  I  did  not  then  know,  but  afterward  ascertained  to 
be  Rust,  with  the  abrupt  question,  "Would  you  resent  an 
insult  ? "  "  That  depends  on  circumstances  "  was  my  answer. 
The  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when  a  powerful  blow,  that 
I  neither  saw  nor  anticipated,  temporarily  stunned  and  stag 
gered  me ;  but  I  brought  up  against  the  wooden  railing  of 
the  walk  down  through  the  public  grounds,  from  the  Capitol 
to  the  Avenue.  Dozens  of  all  parties  were  around,  but  no 


"BANKS  CONGRESS."  —  CONTEST  FOR  SPEAKER.  349 

one  interposed ;  and  Eust,  whirling  on  his  heel,  proceeded  on 
his  way.  Soon  recovering  my  consciousness,  I  followed  ;  and, 
just  before  reaching  my  (National)  hotel,  overtook  Eust  and 
his  party,  who  were  probably  awaiting  me.  He  turned,  with 
three  or  four  friends  flanking  him,  and  again  assaulted  me ; 
this  time  with  a  heavy  cane,  which  he  broke  over  my  arm,  — 
raised  to  guard  my  head,  as  I  was  trying  to  close  with  him. 
My  arm  was  badly  swelled  by  the  blow,  as  my  head  was  by 
its  predecessor,  but  I  neither  fell  nor  recoiled;  and  Eust, 
soon  whirling  again,  went  on  his  way,  while  I  repaired  to  my 
room  in  the  hotel,  which  I  was  obliged  to  keep  for  some  days 
thereafter.  The  only  excuse  or  pretext  for  this  assault  was 
afforded  by  my  strictures  in  The  Tribune  on  his  baffled  at 
tempt  to  coerce  his  political  opponents  into  voting  for  some 
one  else  than  the  man  of  their  choice  for  Speaker. 

I  cannot  now  remember  that  I  was  ever  seriously  assaulted 
since  my  boyhood  except  by  Eust  as  aforesaid.  Writing  the 
plainest  and  squares t  Anglo- Saxon  I  know,  and  often  speak 
ing  of  political  opponents,  their  works,  ways,  and  words,  in 
terms  that  could  by  no  tolerable  stretch  of  courtesy  be  deemed 
flattering,  —  terms,  doubtless,  sometimes  misjudging  and  un 
deserved,  —  I  suppose  I  ought  to  deem  myself  fortunate  in 
having  so  seldom  been  subjected  to  personal  violence.  Still, 
if  Eust's  assaults  were  intended  to  convince  me  that  his 
proposition  was  fair  and  manly,  they  certainly  failed  to  sub 
serve  their  purpose. 

Some  weeks  after  these  assaults,  I  was  waited  on  at  the 
Capitol  by  the  Marshal  of  the  District,  who  wished  me  to  go 
before  the  Grand  Jury  as  a  witness  against  Eust.  This  I  de 
clined  to  do,  unless  compelled  by  due  process  of  law ;  for,  I 
urged,  there  were  fully  a  score  who  witnessed  either  assault, 
all  under  circumstances  more  favorable  to  observation  than 
mine  ;  and,  if  these  did  not  see  fit  to  testify,  why  call  on  me  ? 
I  did  not  choose  to  figure  as  an  informer  or  complainant.  I 
decidedly  preferred  not  to  have  the  wrath  of  the  law  placated 
by  a  fine  of  $  25  or  $  50.  So  nothing  was  ever  done  in  the 
premises.  I  do  not  even  remember  that  Eust  was  ever  pre- 


350  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

sented  by  his  admirers  with  a  cane,  as  Mr.  Brooks  of  South 
Carolina  was  with  several  by  those  who  exulted  over  his  far 
more  savage  and  damaging  attack,  a  few  weeks  later,  on  Sen 
ator  Sumner,  —  a  crime  for  which  a  Washington  court  fined 
the  Hon.  culprit  $  300. 

If  there  happens  to  be  any  one  who  decides  that  Rust's 
proposal  did  not  justify  my  strictures  (which,  I  assume,  were 
severe),  I  ask  him  to  pass  judgment  on  one  that  was  sub 
mitted,  directly  after  Rust's  was  disposed  of,  by  Hon.  Charles 
James  Faulkner  of  Virginia,  afterward  President  Buchanan's 
Minister  Plenipotentiary  to  London.  It  is  as  follows  :  — 

"Resolved,  That  the  persistent  adherence  of  the  Republican 
party  to  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  P.  Banks  as  its  candidate  for  the 
office  of  Speaker,  after  the  repeated  manifestations  by  the  majority 
of  the  members  of  this  House  that  he  does  not  possess  their  con 
fidence  for  that  situation,  exhibits  a  determination  to  sacrifice  the 
public  interests  of  the  country  to  the  triumphs  of  a  personal  and 
sectional  party ;  and  that  the  further  continuance  of  his  name 
before  this  body,  as  the  candidate  of  his  party  for  the  office  of 
Speaker,  justly  attaches  to  his  supporters  the  responsibility  for  a 
failure  to  organize  this  House." 

I  do  not  believe  in  the  Rust  style  of  argumentation ;  yet  I 
cannot  see  how  such  propositions  as  the  above  could  be  ap 
propriately  met  by  any  other. 

And  still  the  balloting  for  Speaker  went  fitfully  on,  alter 
nated  with  debates. 

President  Pierce  having  sent  in  his  Annual  Message  on  the 
25th,  though  the  House  was  in  no  condition  to  receive  it,  — 
Mr.  Banks  now  generally  lacking  six  or  seven  votes  of  being 
chosen,  —  while  all  manner  of  back-stairs  intrigues  were  fo 
mented  by  the  twenty  or  thirty  nominal  Republicans  of 
whom  each  fancied  that  he  would  stand  a  good  chance  for 
the  Speakership  if  Banks  were  withdrawn ;  and  one  or  two 
serious  but  unsuccessful  attempts  having  been  made  to  con 
centrate  the  entire  anti-Republican  vote  on  Hon.  James  L. 
Orr  (Dem.),  of  South  Carolina ;  at  length,  on  the  1st  of  Feb 
ruary,  a  motion  by  Hon.  John  Hickman,  of  Pennsylvania,  to 


"BANKS  CONGRESS."— CONTEST  FOR  SPEAKER.    351 

adopt  a  plurality  rule,  was  defeated  by  the  close  vote  of  108 
Yeas  to  110  Nays ;  so  that  it  was  evident  an  election  was  not 
far  off.  Next  day,  Mr.  Samuel  A.  Smith  (Dem.),  of  Tennes 
see,  renewed  the  proposition  in  this  shape  :  — 

"  Resolved,  That  the  House  will  proceed  immediately  to  the 
election  of  a  Speaker  viva  voce.  If,  after  the  roll  shall  have  been 
called  three  times,  no  member  shall  have  received  a  majority  of 
all  the  votes  cast,  the  roll  shall  again  be  called,  and  the  member 
who  shall  then  receive  the  largest  number  of  votes,  provided  it 
shall  be  a  majority  of  a  quorum,  shall  be  declared  duly  elected 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the  XXXIVth  Con 
gress." 

A  motion  to  lay  this  proposition  on  the  table  was  promptly 
voted  down,  — 114  to  104,  —  and  the  resolution  then  adopted, 
under  the  Previous  Question,  —  Yeas,  113  ;  Nays,  104.  The 
Democrats  who  supported  it  were  Messrs.  Barclay  of  Penn 
sylvania,  Clingman  of  North  Carolina,  Herbert  of  California, 
Kelly  of  New  York,  Andrew  Oliver  of  New  York,  S.  A.  Smith 
of  Tennessee,  and  John  Williams  of  New  York.  Several  at 
tempts  to  rescind  the  above  rule  were  successively  made  and 
voted  down ;  and  then  the  House,  rejecting  all  motions  to 
adjourn,  proceeded  to  vote  under  it,  with  the  following 
result :  — 

IMth  ballot.      ISlst.  1S2d.  133d. 

Nathaniel  P.  Banks,  of  Massachusetts     .  102  102  102  103 

William  Aiken,  of  South  Carolina       .       .  93  93  92  100 

Henry  M.  Fuller,  of  Pennsylvania     ..  14  13  13  6 

Scattering, 6  6  6  5 

The  House  thereupon,  on  motion  of  Mr.  Clingman  of  North 
Carolina,  resolved,  by  155  to  40,  that  Mr.  Banks  had  been  duly 
elected  Speaker ;  and  the  long  struggle  was  over.  It  is  memor 
able  as  the  very  first  in  our  National  history  wherein  Northern 
resistance  to  Slavery  Extension  ever  won  in  a  fair,  stand-up 
contest,  without  compromise  or  equivocation.  Nine  weeks  had 
been  spent  —  I  think,  not  unprofitably  —  in  producing  this 
result ;  and  there  were  not  over  seventy-five  decided  Eepub- 
licans  in  the  House  of  234  members  in  which  it  was  achieved. 
Day  after  day,  those  who  still  insisted  on  holding  on  to  Banks 


352  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

had  been  inveighed  against  as  perilling  the  cause  for  their 
favorite ;  when,  in  fact,  had  Banks  been  dropped,  it  would 
have  been  found  impossible  to  concentrate  so  many  votes  on 
any  one  else,  as  were  nearly  (or  quite)  a  hundred  times  cast 
for  him.  The  readiness  of  his  friends,  at  all  times,  to  adopt 
the  plurality  rule,  and  abide  the  result,  shielded  them  from 
all  just  reproach  as  wantonly  protracting  the  contest.  If  ap 
propriations  were  needed,  it  became  the  supporters  of  the  Ad 
ministration  to  let  the  House  be  organized  under  that  rule,  so 
that  the  public  need  might  be  satisfied.  The  long  contest 
had  proved  the  "  American  "  organization  a  myth,  a  fog-bank, 
an  illusion ;  and  the  new-born  Eepublican  party,  consolidated 
and  united  by  this  struggle,  mustered  heartily  and  formidably 
at  its  first  National  Convention,  which  assembled  at  Pitts- 
burg,  Pa.,  on  the  22d  of  that  month. 


Mr.  Banks,  though  then  in  his  second  term,  proved  an 
excellent  Speaker,  —  prompt,  vigorous,  decided,  and  just. 
Though  a  majority  remained  politically  hostile  to  him,  and 
the  waves  of  party  passion  ran  very  high,  I  believe  but  one 
of  the  many  decisions  made  by  him  as  Speaker  was  over 
ruled  ;  and  the  House,  on  calmer  consideration,  reconsidered 
its  overruling  vote.  Abler  men  may  have  filled  that  difficult 
post ;  but  no  man,  I  judge,  ever  gave  himself  more  unreserv 
edly  to  the  discharge  of  its  arduous  duties.  I  have  heard 
that  Mr.  Banks  was  a  schoolmaster  in  his  youth,  and  his 
manner  in  the  chair  often  countenanced  the  tradition.  If  he 
had  a  fault,  it  was  that  of  overdoing,  impelled  by  absorbing 
anxiety  to  keep  in  order  a  body  essentially  turbulent,  and 
inclined  to  resent  and  baffle  any  attempt  to  draw  the  reins 
too  tightly.  The  temptations  to  an  opposite  course  are  very 
strong,  and  presiding  officers  far  oftener  err  on  the  side  of 
laxity  than  on  that  of  rigor. 


XLII. 

FREMONT.  —  BUCHANAN.  —  DOUGL  AS. 

THE  popular  elections  of  1854-55  had  made  manifest 
the  fact  that  the  Opposition,  if  united  on  one  ticket,  was 
strong  enough  to  oust  the  Democratic  party  from  power  at 
Washington  ;  the  long  and  arduous  struggle  for  Speaker  had 
shown  that  such  combination  could  only  be  effected  with 
great  difficulty,  if  at  all.  The  "  American  "  party  was  first  in 
the  field,  —  selecting  as  its  candidates  Millard  Fillmore,  of 
New  York,  for  President,  with  Andrew  J.  Donelson  (nephew 
and  namesake  of  "Old  Hickory"),  of  Tennessee,  for  Vice- 
President,  —  men  of  decided  personal  strength,  but  impossible 
candidates  for  the  Eepublicans,  because  radically  hostile  to 
their  cardinal  principle.  The  Democrats  next  held  their  Con 
vention,  and  nominated  James  Buchanan,  of  Pennsylvania,  for 
President,  with  John  C.  Breckinridge,  of  Kentucky,  for  Vice- 
President.  President  Pierce  and  Senator  Douglas  were  Mr.  Bu 
chanan's  competitors,  and  were  wisely  defeated, — each  of  them 
being  conspicuously  identified  with  the  Nebraska  bill ;  while 
Mr.  Buchanan,  having  been,  throughout  President  Pierce's  term, 
Envoy  to  Great  Britain,  had  escaped  all  complication  in  the 
popular  mind  with  that  measure.  And,  as  Pennsylvania  was 
the  probable  pivot  of  the  contest,  it  was  manifestly  wise  to 
present  a  Pennsylvanian  for  the  first  office.  The  Eepublicans, 
meeting  last,  nominated  Colonel  John  C.  Fremont,  of  Califor 
nia,  for  President,  with  William  L.  Dayton,  of  New  Jersey, 
for  Yice-President.  They  were  strongly  urged  to  present 
John  McLean,  of  Ohio,  then  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
for  the  first  office,  with  the  assurance  that  he  could  secure  the 

23 


354  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A   BUSY  LIFE. 

bulk  of  the  "  American  "  vote,  —  at  least  in  the  Free  States,  — 
and  thus  probably  carry  Pennsylvania  and  Indiana.  This 
assurance  seemed  to  rest  on  no  certain  or  tangible  data,  and 
was  overruled,  —  a  mistake  (if  such  it  were)  for  which  I  ac 
cept  my  full  share  of  responsibility.  I  felt  that  Colonel  Fre 
mont's  adventurous,  dashing  career  had  given  him  popularity, 
with  our  young  men  especially ;  and  I  had  no  faith  in  the 
practicability  of  our  winning  many  votes  from  those  "  Ameri 
cans  "  who  were  not  heartily  Republicans. 

Our  canvass  was  very  animated,  and  our  hopes,  for  a  season, 
quite  sanguine,  especially  after  Maine  had  gone  for  us  in  Sep 
tember,  by  25,000  plurality ;  but  the  October  elections  gave 
us  a  cold  chill,  —  Pennsylvania  choosing  the  Democratic 
State  officers,  by  3,000  majority,  over  the  vote  of  the  com 
bined  Opposition,  with  15  of  the  25  representatives  in  Con 
gress,  and  a  majority  in  the  Legislature.  Indiana  likewise 
went  against  the  combined  Opposition,  by  an  average  majority 
of  more  than  6,000  ;  and  when  it  transpired  that  the  "  Ameri 
can  "  leaders,  rejecting  all  offers  to  run  combined  tickets,  per 
sisted  in  running  distinctive  Fillmore  tickets  for  Electors  in 
each  of  these  (as  in  most  other)  States,  it  was  clear  that  we 
were  doomed  to  defeat,  —  all  the  States  that  we  could  still 
rationally  hope  to  carry  casting  less  than  half  the  Electoral 
votes.  Yet  we  fought  on  with  much  resolution,  though  with 
little  hope  ;  giving  Fremont  and  Dayton  the  six  New  England 
States,  by  clear  majorities ;  New  York,  by  80,000  plurality ; 
and  Ohio,  by  nearly  17,000 ;  while  Michigan,  Iowa,  arid  Wis 
consin  went  decidedly  for  us,  as  Illinois  would  have  done  had 
there  been  no  third  ticket.  Pennsylvania  and  Indiana  each 
gave  Mr.  Buchanan  a  bare  majority  over  the  two  opposing 
tickets.  Mr.  Fillmore  received  the  8  electoral  votes  of  Mary 
land  only  ;  Colonel  Fremont  had  114  votes,  —  those  of  eleven 
Free  States;  while  Mr.  Buchanan  was  elected  by  112  votes 
from  fourteen  Slave  States,  and  62  from  five  Free  States,  — 
174  in  all,  or  a  clear  majority.  The  aggregate  popular  vote 
stood:  Buchanan,  1,838,232;  Fremont,  1,341,514 ;  Fillmore, 
874,707.  Buchanan's  inauguration  (March  4,  1857)  was 


FREMONT.  —  BUCHANAN.  —  DOUGLAS.  355 

swiftly  followed  by  the  since  famous  Dred  Scott  decision  of 
the  Supreme  Court,  which  denied  the  right  of  Congress  to 
prohibit  slaveholding  in  the  Territories  of  the  Union,  and 
proclaimed  it  the  notion  of  our  Revolutionary  fathers  that 
Blacks  have  no  rights  that  Whites  are  bound  to  respect.  Mr. 
Buchanan  foreshadowed  this  decision  in  his  Inaugural,  gave 
it  his  hearty  indorsement,  and  commended  it  to  general  ap 
proval. 

Kansas  had  begun  to  be  settled  in  1854,  directly  after  the 
passage  of  the  Nebraska  bill,  and  had  inevitably  become  an 
arena  of  strife  and  violence.  Colonies  were  sent  thither  from 
the  Free  States  expressly  to  mould  her  to  the  uses  of  Free  La 
bor  ;  while  weaker  colonies  were  sent  thither  from  the  South, 
to  bind  her  to  the  car  of  Slavery.  These  would  have  been 
of  small  account  had  they  not  been  largely  supplemented 
by  the  incursions  of  Missourians,  who,  thoroughly  armed, 
swarmed  across  the  unmarked  border  whenever  an  election 
was  impending ;  camping  in  the  vicinity  of  most  of  the  polls, 
whereof  they  took  unceremonious  possession,  and  voting  till 
they  were  sure  that  no  more  votes  were  needed  ;  when  they 
decamped,  and  returned  to  their  Missouri  homes.  As  the 
Free-State  settlers  refused  to  be  thus  subjugated,  there  were 
soon  two  Territorial  legislatures,  with  sheriffs  and  courts  to 
match ;  and  these  inevitably  led  to  collisions  of  authorities 
and  of  forces,  resulting  in  general  insecurity  and  turmoil,  with 
occasional  sacrifices  of  property  and  of  life.  Congress  had  tried 
to  end  these  disorders ;  but  no  plan  could  be  agreed  upon  by 
the  two  Houses,  and  nothing  was  effected.  At  length,  in  the 
Summer  of  1857,  the  pro-Slavery  minority,  powerfully  aided 
by  the  "  Border  Ruffians,"  elected  a  Convention,  framed  a  Pro- 
Slavery  Constitution,  adopted  it  after  their  fashion,  and  sent 
it  to  Congress  for  approval  and  ratification.  It  was  known  as 
the  "  Lecompton  "  Constitution,  from  the  place  where  it  was 
fabricated. 

Mr.  Buchanan  at  first  hesitated  to  indorse  or  be  complicated 
with  this  procedure ;  so  that  there  was  trouble  in  the  camp ; 


356  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  it  was  currently  reported  that  his  less  scrupulous  Secre 
tary  of  the  Treasury,  —  Howell  Cobb,  of  Georgia,  —  being 
asked  by  a  visitor  what  was  the  matter,  carelessly  replied, 
"  0,  not  much ;  only  Old  Buck  is  opposing  the  Administra 
tion."  Senator  Douglas,  on  the  one  hand,  at  first  seemed 
inclined  to  the  side  of  the  Missourians,  whose  cause  he  had 
upheld  with  signal  ability  and  energy  in  the  preceding  Con 
gress  ;  but  he  soon  demonstrated  in  favor  of  genuine  "  Popular 
Sovereignty,"  in  Kansas,  which  was  his  more  natural  and  con 
sistent  position.  Eeports  of  this  change  had  preceded  his 
appearance  in  Washington  as  a  member  of  the  XXXVth  Con 
gress  ;  so  that,  on  his  calling  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  Presi 
dent,  an  animated  and  spicy  colloquy  on  the  ruling  topic  was 
at  once  commenced  by  his  host.  "  Mr.  Douglas,"  said  the 
President,  "  how  are  we  to  allay  the  contention  and  trouble 
created  by  this  strife  over  the  Lecompton  Constitution  ? " 
"  Why,  Mr.  President,"  replied  his  guest,  "  I  do  not  see  how 
you  should  have  any  trouble  in  the  premises.  The  Constitu 
tion  says,  '  Congress  shall  make  all  needful  rules  and  regula 
tions  respecting  the  Territories,'  &c.,  but  I  cannot  recall  any 
clause  which  requires  the  President  to  make  any."  Thus  the 
conversation  ran  on,  until  the  President,  waxing  warm,  saw 
fit  to  warn  his  visitor  that  his  present  course  would,  if  per 
sisted  in,  soon  carry  him  out  of  the  Democratic  party.  "  Mr. 
Senator,"  he  inquired,  "  do  you  clearly  apprehend  the  goal  to 
which  you  are  now  tending  ? "  "  Yes,  sir,"  promptly  responded 
the  Little  Giant ;  "  I  have  taken  a  through  ticket,  and  checked 
all  my  baggage."  Further  discussion  being  obviously  useless, 
Mr.  Douglas  soon  left  the  White  House,  and  I  believe  he  did 
not  visit  it  again  during  Mr.  Buchanan's  administration. 


The  XXXVth  Congress,  which  had  'been  mainly  chosen 
simultaneously  with  Mr.  Buchanan,  or  nearly  so,  was  decid 
edly  Democratic,  and  still  more  strongly  pro-Slavery,  —  the 
Senate  impregnably  so,  by  about  two  to  one,  —  and  yet,  so 
flagrant  were  the  enormities  of  the  Lecompton  measure,  and  so 


FREMONT.  —  BUCHANAN.  —  DOUGLAS.  357 

conspicuous  the  ability  and  the  energy  of  Mr.  Douglas,  who  led 
the  resistance  to  it,  and  threw  his  whole  soul  into  the  work, 
that  the  attempt  to  make  Kansas  a  Slave  State  under  the 
Lecompton  Constitution  (which  her  people  were  forbidden  to 
change  to  the  detriment  of  Slavery  for  several  years  to  come) 
was  fairly  beaten ;  being  vitally  amended  in  the  House  by  a 
vote  of  120  to  112,  after  it  had  passed  the  Senate  by  35  to  23. 
The  Senate  at  first  refused  to  concur  by  34  to  22 ;  whereupon 
a  conference  was  had,  and  an  equivocal  compromise  measure 
thereby  devised  and  carried  through  both  Houses  by  nearly  a 
party  vote.  But,  as  this  measure  gave  the  people  of  Kansas 
a  chance  indirectly  to  vote  upon  and  reject  the  Lecompton 
scheme,  such  a  vote  was  thereupon  had,  and  the  scheme  re 
jected  by  an  overwhelming  majority.  Kansas  thus  remained 
a  Territory  until  after  the  secession  from  Congress  of  most  of 
the  Southern  Senators,  early  in  1861,  when  she  was  admitted 
as  a  Free  State,  with  the  hearty  assent  of  three  fourths  of  her 
inhabitants. 

Mr.  Douglas's  second  term  as  Senator  expired  with  the 
Congress  in  which  he  made  his  gallant  and  successful  struggle 
against  what  I  deemed  a  great  and  perilous  wrong,  —  a  wrong 
so  palpable  that  the  eminent  Senator  Hammond,  of  South 
Carolina,  who  supported  it  at  every  step,  afterward  publicly 
declared  that  the  Lecompton  bill  should  at  once  have  been 
kicked  out  of  Congress  as  a  fraud.  It  seemed  to  me  that  not 
only  magnanimity,  but  policy,  dictated  to  the  Eepublicans  of 
Illinois  that  they  should  promptly  and  heartily  tender  their 
support  to  Mr.  Douglas,  and  thus  insure  his  reelection  for  a 
third  term  with  substantial  unanimity.  They  did  not  concur, 
however,  but  received  the  suggestion  with  passionate  impa 
tience.  Having  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  confronted  Mr. 
Douglas  as  the  ablest,  most  alert,  most  effective,  of  their  ad 
versaries,  they  could  not  now  be  induced  to  regard  him  in  a 
different  light ;  and,  beside,  their  hearts  were  set  on  the  elec 
tion,  as  his  successor,  of  their  own  especial  favorite  and  cham 
pion,  Abraham  Lincoln,  who,  though  the  country  at  large 


358  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

scarcely  knew  him  as  for  a  single  term  a  Representative  in 
Congress,  was  endeared  to  them  by  his  tested  efficiency  as  a 
canvasser  and  his  honest  worth  as  a  man.  Four  years  before, 
the  Whig  portion  of  them  had  wished  to  make  him  Senator ; 
but  the  far  fewer  anti-Nebraska  Democrats  held  the  balance 
of  power,  and  they  decisively  said,  "  You  will  elect  our  leader, 
Lyman  Trumbull,  or  you  will  not  elect  at  all."  Having  given 
way  then,  the  great  body  of  the  party  had  fully  resolved  that 
Lincoln,  should  be  their  candidate  now,  and  that,  at  all  events, 
Douglas  should  not  be.  So  Lincoln  was  nominated,  and  ac 
cepted  in  a  memorable  speech ;  and  the  State  was  canvassed 
by  him  and  Douglas  as  it  had  never  before  been,  —  they  re 
peatedly  speaking  alternately  from  the  same  stand  to  gather 
ings  of  deeply  interested  and  intently  listening  thousands. 
In  the  event,  Mr.  Douglas  secured  a  small  majority  in  either 
branch  of  the  Legislature,  and  was  reflected ;  but  Mr.  Lincoln's 
friends  claimed  a  considerable  majority  for  their  favorite  in 
the  aggregate  popular  vote.  They  did  not,  for  a  while,  incline 
to  forgive  me  for  the  suggestion  that  it  would  have  been  wiser 
and  better  not  to  have  opposed  Mr.  Douglas's  return ;  but  I 
still  abide  in  that  conviction. 


Mr.  Douglas  was  the  readiest  man  I  ever  knew.  He  was 
not  a  hard  student ;  if  he  had  been,  it  would  have  been  diffi 
cult  to  set  limits  to  his  power.  I  have  seen  him  rise  in  the 
Senate  quite  at  fault  with  regard  to  essential  facts  in  contro 
versy,  and  thence  make  damaging  blunders  in  debate ;  but 
he  readily  caught  at  and  profited  by  any  suggestion  thrown 
out  by  friend  or  foe ;  and  no  American  ever  excelled  him  in 
off-hand  discussion  :  so  that,  even  if  worsted  in  the  first  stages, 
he  was  apt  to  regain  his  lost  ground  as  he  went  on.  Once, 
as  I  sat  with  the  senior  Francis  P.  Blair  and  one  or  two  others 
outside  the  bar  of  the  Senate  in  1856,  he  made  us  the  text  of 
an  amusing  dissertation  on  the  piebald,  ring-streaked,  and 
speckled  materials  whereof  the  new  Republican  party  was 
composed ;  and,  passing  us  soon  afterward,  he  hailed  me  faniil- 


FREMONT.  —  BUCHANAN.  —  DOUGLAS.  359 

iarly  with  the  interrogation,  "  Did  n't  I  give  you  a  good  turn 
just  now  ? "  At  a  later  day,  when  the  Lecompton  struggle 
was  in  progress,  a  mutual  friend,  remembering  that  my  stric 
tures  on  Mr.  Douglas  in  former  years  had  been  of  a  very 
caustic  sort,  inquired  of  him  whether  he  had  any  objections, 
on  account  of  those  strictures,  to  meeting  me  on  a  friendly 
footing.  "  Certainly  not,"  was  his  instant  response  ;  "  I  always 
pay  that  class  of  debts  as  I  go  along."  Our  country  has  often 
been  called  to  mourn  severe,  untimely  losses ;  yet  I  deem 
the  death  of  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  just  at  the  outbreak  of  our 
great  Civil  War,  and  when  he  had  thrown  his  whole  soul  into 
the  cause  of  the  country,  one  of  the  most  grievous  and  ir 
reparable. 

Mr.  Buchanan,  though  born  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century 
earlier,  survived  Mr.  Douglas  by  fully  seven  years ;  dying  in 
1868,  when  he  had  long  outlived  whatever  influence  or  con 
sideration  he  may  once  have  enjoyed.  Alike  ambitious  and 
timid,  his  conduct  throughout  the  initial  stage  of  the  Kebel- 
lion  is  yet  unaccountable  on  any  hypothesis  but  that  of 
secret  pledges,  made  by  him  or  for  him,  to  the  Southern 
leaders  when  he  was  an  aspirant  to  the  Presidency,  that 
fettered  and  paralyzed  him  when  they  perverted  the  power 
enjoyed  by  them  as  members  of  his  Cabinet  to  the  disruption 
and  overthrow  of  the  Union.  That,  during  those  last  mourn 
ful  months  of  his  nominal  rule,  he  repeatedly  said  to  those 
around  him,  "  I  am  the  last  President  of  the  United  States," 
I  firmly  believe;  that  he  proclaimed  and  argued  that  the 
Federal  government  had  no  constitutional  right  to  defend  its 
own  existence  against  State  secession,  is  matter  of  public 
record.  Though  he  had  spent  what  should  have  been  the 
better  part  of  a  long  life  in  working  his  way  up  to  the  Presi 
dential  chair,  I  think  the  verdict  of  history  must  be  that  it 
would  have  been  far  better  for  his  own  fame,  as  well  as  better 
for  the  country,  that  he  had  failed  to  obtain  it. 


XLIII. 

A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS. 

FEOM  the  hour  when,  late  in  1848,  the  discovery  of  rich  gold 
placers  in  California  had  incited  a  vast  and  eager  migra 
tion  thither,  insuring  the  rapid  growth  of  energetic  and  thrifty 
settlements  of  our  countrymen  on  that  remote  and  previously 
unattractive,  thinly  peopled  coast,  the  construction  of  a  great 
International  Eailway  from  the  Missouri  to  the  Pacific  seemed 
to  me  imperative  and  inevitable.  I  could  not  deem  it  practi 
cable  to  retain  permanently  under  one  government  communi 
ties  of  many  millions  of  intelligent,  aspiring,  imperious  people, 
separated  by  fifteen  hundred  miles  of  desert,  traversed  by  two 
great  mountain-chains,  beside  innumerable  clusters,  spurs 
and  isolated  summits,  and  compelling  a  resort,  for  compara 
tively  easy,  cheap,  and  speedy  transit,  to  a  circuit  of  many 
thousands  of  miles.  A  Pacific  Railroad  was  thus  accepted  by 
me  at  a  very  early  day  as  a  National  necessity,  alike  in  its 
political  and  its  commercial  aspects ;  and,  while  others  were 
scoffingly  likening  it  to  a  tunnel  under  the  Atlantic  or  a 
bridge  to  the  moon,  I  was  pondering  the  probabilities  and 
means  of  its  early  construction.  I  resolved  to  make  a  journey 
of  observation  across  the  continent,  with  reference  to  the 
natural  obstacles  presented  to,  and  facilities  afforded  for,  its 
construction ;  but  no  opportunity  for  executing  this  purpose 
was  afforded  me  prior  to  the  year  1859.  I  then  hoped,  rather 
than  confidently  expected,  that,  on  publicly  announcing  my 
intention,  some  friend  might  offer  to  bear  me  company  on  this 
journey ;  but  my  hope  was  not  realized.  One  friend  did  pro 
pose  to  go  ;  but  his  wife's  veto  overruled  his  not  very  stubborn 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS.  361 

resolve.  I  started  alone,  on  the  9th  of  May,  and  travelled  rap 
idly,  via  Cleveland,  Chicago,  Quincy,  and  the  North  Missouri 
Railroad,  to  St.  Joseph ;  thence  dropping  down  the  Missouri 
to  Atchison,  and  traversing  Kansas,  by  Leavenworth  and 
Wyandot,  to  Osawatomie ;  thence  visiting  Lawrence  arid  re 
turning  to  Leavenworth,  whence  the  "Pike's  Peak"  stage 
carried  me,  through  Topeka,  Manhattan,  and  Fort  Kiley,  to 
Junction  City,  then  the  western  outpost  of  civilization  in  that 
quarter. 

We  stopped  overnight  at  the  said  city,  and  I  visited  a 
brother  editor,  who  was  printing  there  a  little  Democratic 
weekly,  for  which  he  may  possibly  have  had  two  hundred 
subscribers ;  but,  if  so,  I  am  confident  that  not  one  half  of 
them  ever  paid  him  the  first  cent.  He  was,  primarily,  as  I 
remember,  a  Texan ;  but,  having  spent  two  years  in  California, 
he  gave  me  the  most  rapturous  commendations  of  the  beauties, 
glories,  and  delights  of  that  region.  "  It  is  the  greatest,  the 
finest,  the  most  attractive  country  that  man  ever  saw,"  he 
concluded.  "  Then  why  are  you  not  still  in  California  ?  "  I 
inquired,  glancing  around  his  doleful  little  shanty.  "  Because 
I  am  a  great  fool,"  he  bluntly  replied.  I  did  not  see  how 
profitably  to  protract  the  discussion. 


We  left  Junction  City  on  a  bright  morning  late  in  May, 
following  a  new  trail,  which  kept  within  sight  of  the  Solo 
mon's  or  middle  fork  of  the  Kansas  River  for  the  next  two 
hundred  miles.  The  country  was,  in  the  main,  gently  rolling 
prairie,  covered  with  luxuriant  young  grass,  and  fairly  glow 
ing  with  flowers.  Antelopes,  though  shy,  were  frequently 
seen  at  a  distance,  which  they  rapidly  increased.  Streams 
running  into  the  Solomon,  across  our  track,  were  at  first  fre 
quent,  and  often  skirted  with  trees ;  but  grew  scarcer  and 
more  scanty  as  we  proceeded.  There  was  some  variety  of 
timber  in  the  wet  bottoms  at  first;  but  soon  the  species 
dwindled  to  two,  —  Cottonwood  and  a  low,  wide-branching 
Water  Elm ;  at  length,  upon  passing  a  wide  belt  of  thin  soil, 


362  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

covering  what  seemed  to  be  a  reddish  sandstone,  both  wood 
and  water  almost  entirely  vanished,  save  as  we  descried  the 
former  at  intervals  in  the  bottoms  of  the  Solomon,  some  miles 
to  the  left  (southj  of  us.  The  Cayota  or  Prairie  Wolf  (a  mean 
sort  of  stunted  or  foreshortened  fox)  was  infrequently  seen ; 
the  bolder  and  quite  formidable  Gray  Wolf  more  rarely  ;  soon, 
the  underground  lodges  of  the  Prairie  Dog  (a  condensed  gray 
squirrel)  covered  roods  of  the  ground  we  traversed,  —  our 
newly  located  path  lying  right  across  several  of  their  "  towns," 
which  it  had  not  yet  impelled  them  to  desert.  I  refused,  at 
first,  to  credit  the  plainsmen's  stories  that  an  Owl  and  a  Rattle 
snake  were  habitually,  if  not  uniformly,  fellow-tenants  of  his 
"  hole  "  with  the  Prairie  Dog,  though  I  had  already  seen  many 
Owls  sitting,  as  we  came  near,  each  at  the  mouth  of  a  hole, 
after  the  Prairie  Dog  had  barked  his  quick,  sharp  note  of 
alarm  at  our  approach,  and  dropped  into  it ;  but  I  was  finally 
compelled  to  succumb  to  testimony  that  could  not  be  gain- 
sayed.  The  rationale  of  the  odd  partnership  is  this  :  the 
Eattlesnake  wants  a  lodging,  and  cannot  easily  dig  one  in  that 
compact  soil ;  the  Prairie  Dog  does  n't  want  to  be  dug  out  and 
eaten  by  the  Cayota,  as  he  quickly  and  surely  would  be  but 
for  the  protection  afforded  by  the  Rattlesnake's  deadly  fangs. 
What  the  Owl  (a  small  particolored  one)  makes  by  the  asso 
ciation,  I  do  not  so  clearly  comprehend ;  but  I  suspect  the 
Hawk  would  pounce  upon  and  devour  him  but  for  the  ugly 
customer  presumed  to  be  just  at  hand,  and  ready  to  "  mix  in," 
if  any  outsider  should  venture  to  meddle  with  the  Owl ;  whose 
partnership  duties  are  plainly  those  of  a  watch-dog  or  lookout. 


Beyond  the  sterile  sandstone  belt,  we  struck  a  wide  stretch 
of  almost  woodless,  gently  rolling  prairie,  thickly  reticulated 
by  tortuous  buffalo  paths,  with  frequent  skeletons  and  still 
more  plenteous  skulls,  —  the  soil  being  covered  by  a  mere 
sward  of  the  short,  strong  buffalo-grass  ;  and  soon  wre  came  in 
sight  of  galloping,  fleeing  herds  of  first  three  and  four,  then 
twenty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty,  buffaloes,  generally  running 


A  RIDE  ACROSS   THE  PLAINS.  363 

southward,  in  their  alarm  at  our  appearance,  to  seek  safety  in 
more  familiar  haunts,  —  the  entire  host  being  at  this  time  in 
movement  northward.  Twenty  or  thirty  miles  farther  on, 
having  reached  the  summit  of  a  gentle  slope,  we  looked  down 
its  western  counterpart  to  the  pretty  brook  at  its  base,  per 
haps  five  miles  distant,  and  thence  up  the  opposite  "  rise,"  - 
the  eye  taking  in  at  a  glance  at  least  a  hundred  square  miles 
of  close-fed  velvet  glade,  whereof  nearly  or  quite  half  was 
covered  by  buffalo,  not  "  as  thick  as  they  could  stand,"  but  as 
close  together  as  they  could  comfortably  feed.  Say  that 
there  were  but  twenty  (instead  of  fifty)  square  miles  of  buf 
faloes  in  sight,  and  that  each  one  had  four  square  rods  of 
ground  to  himself,  the  number  in  sight  at  once  was  512,000. 
And  for  three  days  we  were  oftener  in  than  out  of  sight  of 
these  vast  herds,  and  must  have  seen  several  millions  of  buf 
faloes.  In  fact,  we  could  with  difficulty  avoid  them,  —  our 
driver  being  once  obliged  to  stop  his  team,  or  allow  it  and  us 
to  be  overwhelmed  and  crushed  by  a  frightened,  furious  herd, 
which,  having  commenced  its  stampede  southward  across  our 
path  forty  or  fifty  rods  ahead  of  us,  continued  to  follow  each 
other  in  blind  succession  until  we  must  have  gone  down  and 
rolled  over  beneath  their  thundering  charge  (as  an  empty 
stage  did  a  few  days  afterward),  if  we  had  not  halted,  and  so 
avoided  them.  A  day  or  two  before,  an  agent  of  the  lin°, 
who  was  riding  a  horse  along  the  track,  unthinking  of  danger, 
was  borne  down  by  a  herd  started  by  some  emigrants  the 
other  side  of  an  elevation,  and  instantly  hurled  to  the  earth. 
Though  badly  hurt,  he  saved  himself  from  death  by  firing  all 
the  barrels  of  his  revolver  at  the  great  brutes  careering  madly 
over  his  prostrate  form ;  but  his  horse  was  instantly  killed. 

Emerging  from  the  buffalo  region,  the  soil  became  visibly 
thinner,  and  the  vegetation  poorer  and  poorer,  until  —  the 
head  sources  of  the  Solomon  having  been  passed  —  we  bore 
rather  north  of  west  across  several  tributaries  to  the  Eepub- 
lican  or  main  northern  branch  of  the  Kansas,  which  we  found 
here  a  rapid,  shallow  stream,  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  wide 
by  one  to  two  feet  deep,  rippling  over  a  bed  of  coarse  sand 


364  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  gravel,  with  a  very  few  cottonwoods  thinly  dotting  its 
banks  at  long  intervals,  —  precious  little  thin,  coarse  grass 
being  occasionally  discernible.  A  mule,  bitten  in  the  jaw  by 
a  rattlesnake,  lying  dead  beside  a  station-tent,  was  one  of  the 
fresher  features  of  this  dreary  region.  A  stunted  cactus  — 
which  reared  its  small,  prickly  leaves  barely  above  the 
ground  —  here  began  to  be  manifest.  Following  up  the 
dwindling  river,  we  soon  came  to  a  "sink,"  —  the  entire 
stream  percolating  for  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  hence  through 
its  gravelly  bed  far  below  the  surface  of  the  earth,  —  a  team 
ster,  who  dug  through  eight  feet  of  sand  and  gravel  in  quest 
of  water  for  his  fainting  beasts,  being  obliged  to  desist  with 
out  finding  any.  Most  of  the  tributaries  we  crossed  on  the 
Kepublican  were  simply  broad  beds  of  coarse,  loose,  dry  sand, 
into  which  our  mules  often  sank  to  a  depth  of  several  inches ; 
though  in  Winter  and  Spring  I  presume  these  are  consider 
able  brooks.  Wood  here  became  so  scarce  that,  to  supply 
one  station,  it  had  to  be  carted  sixteen  miles.  At  length,  we 
left  the  head  springs  of  the  Eepublican  on  our  right,  and 
struck,  a  few  miles  on,  a  northern  tributary  of  the  Arkansas, 
known  as  the  "  Big  Sandy,"  which  we  ascended  some  twenty 
or  thirty  miles ;  finally  leaving  it  on  our  left.  Its  bed  was 
dry,  of  rather  coarse  sand,  and  often  covered  with  a  white, 
alkaline  efflorescence ;  but,  occasionally,  a  small  stream  ran 
gently  aboveground,  under  one  of  its  banks,  where  the  chan 
nel  had  been  worn  exceptionally  deep. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  Big  Sandy,  we  crossed  the  head  wa 
ters  of  Bijou  Creek,  which  runs  northward  into  the  South 
Platte.  "Pike's  Peak,"  snow-crowned,  had  for  some  time 
been  visible  nearly  west  of  us ;  soon,  we  found  deeper  ra 
vines  and  steeper  hills  than  we  had  seen  since  we  left  the 
Missouri,  with  thin  clumps  of  Yellow  or  Pitch  Pine,  —  out 
posts  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  forests,  —  occasionally  covering 
patches  of  their  sides  or  crests  :  the  soil  being  sterile,  and  the 
grass  too  scanty  to  nourish  sweeping  fires  at  any  season. 
After  a  few  hours  of  this,  we  descended  to  the  valley  of 
Cherry  Creek,  near  the  point  where  it  emerges  from  the 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS.  365 

mountains,  and,  following  down  its  east  bank  to  its  entrance 
into  the  South  Platte,  saluted,  one  bright  morning  in  June, 
after  a  rough,  chilly,  all-night  ride,  the  rising  city  of  DENVER. 


Denver  was  then  about  six  months  old ;  but  the  rival  city 
of  Auraria  (since  absorbed  by  it),  lying  just  across  the  bed 
of  Cherry  Creek  (which  suddenly  dried  up  at  this  point  dur 
ing  one  night  of  my  brief  sojourn),  had  already  attained  an 
antiquity  of  nearly  a  year.  As  there  was  no  saw-mill  within 
several  hundred  miles,  none  of  the  edifices  which  composed 
these  rival  cities  could  yet  boast  a  ground-floor;  but  I 
attended  Divine  worship  the  next  Sunday  (in  Auraria)  on  the 
first  second-story  floor  that  was  constructed  in  either  of  them. 
It  may  at  first  blush  seem  odd  that  a  second-floor  should  pre 
cede  a  first ;  but  mother  Earth  supplied  a  first-floor  that  did 
very  well,  while  nature  has  not  yet  condescended  to  supply 
man-made  dwellings  with  chamber-floors. 

I  suppose  there  were  over  a  hundred  dwellings  in  the  two 
cities,  when  I  reached  them.  I  judge  that  they  averaged 
fully  ten  feet  square,  though  probably  the  larger  number  fell 
short  of  that  standard.  In  material,  none  could  boast  over 
its  neighbors,  as  all  were  built  of  cottonwood  logs  from  the 
adjacent  bank  of  the  South  Platte ;  but  some  of  these  were 
rudely  squared  on  one  side,  with  an  axe ;  while  others  were 
left  as  God  made  them.  I  believe  there  was  a  variety  in 
roofs  also,  — some  being  constructed  of  "shooks,"  or  pieces 
split  with  an  axe  from  a  cottonwood  log,  while  others  were  of 
cottonwood  bark.  I  seem  to  remember  that  all  the  chimneys 
were  of  sticks  and  mud ;  but  then  some  were  without  chim 
neys  ;  and,  while  several  had  windows  (I  mean  one  apiece) 
composed  of  four  to  six  lights  of  seven-by-nine  glass,  others 
were  content  with  the  more  primitive  device  of  a  rude  wooden 
shutter,  closed  at  night,  and  during  severe,  windy,  driving 
storms.  Most  of  these  cabins  had  known  as  yet  only  male 
housekeepers  ;  and  nearly  half  of  them  had  been  deserted  by 
their  creators  and  owners,  some  of  whom  were  off  prospecting 


366  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

for  gold;  while  quite  a  number  —  disappointed,  hopeless, 
homesick  —  had  left  for  the  States  early  in  Spring,  convinced 
that  gold  in  the  Kocky  Mountains  was  a  myth,  a  humbug,  or 
that  (in  the  vernacular)  "  Pike  had  n't  got  any  peak."  But 
the  recent  discoveries  on  Clear  Creek  had  given  matters  a  new 
and  more  cheerful  aspect ;  so  that,  while  two  thirds  of  those 
who  started  for  "the  diggings"  that  Spring  never  went  with 
in  sight  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  —  many  of  them  not  half 
way  to  them,  —  while  some  barely  reached  Denver,  and  then 
took  the  back  track,  the  rival  cities  were  gaining  population 
quite  rapidly  during  the  ten  days  that  I  spent  in  or  near 
them,  and  some  good  families  were  among  the  acquisitions. 
Cabins  that  would  gladly  have  been  sold  for  $25  two  months 
earlier  now  ran  rapidly  up  to  $100;  and  the  market  could 
fairly  be  quoted  as  active  and  advancing.  There  were  as  yet 
few  or  no  servants  to  be  hired  at  any  price ;  but  a  consider 
able  band  of  Arapahoes  were  camped  in  Denver ;  and,  while 
the  braves  were  thoroughly  worthless,  their  squaws  were  will 
ing  to  do  anything  for  food.  True,  they  could  do  very  little  ; 
but  lugging  water  from  the  South  Platte  was  the  first  requi 
site  in  housekeeping,  and  this  they  did  faithfully.  We  lived 
mainly  on  bread,  bacon,  beans,  coffee,  and  nettles,  the  last 
being  boiled  for  greens ;  but  those  who  were  not  particular  as 
to  dirt  could  often  buy  a  quarter  of  antelope  just  brought  in 
by  an  Arapahoe ;  or,  more  probably,  killed  by  the  hunter  and 
backed  in  by  his  squaw.  Whiskey  was  in  good  supply  (I 
know  nothing  as  to  the  quality)  at. a  quarter  (silver)  per 
drink.  There  were  several  rude  bedsteads  just  constructed  in 
the  Denver  House,  —  the  grand  hotel  of  the  city,  —  on  which 
you  were  allowed  to  spread  your  blankets  and  repose  for  a 
dollar  a  night ;  but  mine,  being  bottomed  with  rough  slats 
nearly  a  foot  apart,  almost  broke  my  back,  proving  far  less 
luxurious  than  the  bosom  of  mother  Earth.  Two  blacklegs 
rented  opposite  corners  of  the  public  room,  and  were  steadily 
swindling  greenhorns  at  three-card  monte,  from  morning  till 
bedtime:  one  stage-driver,  who  was  paid  off  with  $207  at 
noon,  having  lost  the  last  cent  of  it  to  one  of  these  harpies 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PLAINS.  367 

by  2  P.  M.  The  gamblers  and  other  rough  subjects  had  an 
unpleasant  habit  of  quarrelling  and  firing  revolvers  at  each 
other  in  this  bar-room  when  it  was  crowded,  and  sometimes 
hitting  the  wrong  man,  —  by  which  phrase  I  certainly  do  not 
indicate  any  of  their  own  number.  On  the  whole,  therefore, 
I  soon  tired  of  hotel-life  in  Denver.  It  was  not  dull,  —  quite 
otherwise,  —  but  I  am  shy  by  nature  and  meditative  by  habit, 
and  some  of  the  ways  of  the  Denver  House  did  not  suit  me. 
They  were  unmistakably  Western,  and  I  was  journeying  to 
study  Western  character;  but,  even  though  distance  might 
not  lend  enchantment  to  the  view  of  these  mining-region 
blacklegs  and  ruffians,  I  am  sure  that  they  can  be  studied  to 
better  satisfaction  out  of  pistol-shot  than  at  close  quarters. 

"  Suppose  you  jump  a  cabin  ? "  suggested  the  friend  to 
whom  I  intimated  my  preference  for  a  less  popular  lodging. 
I  did  not  understand ;  but  he  explained,  and  I  saw  the  point. 
Several  cabins  were  still  standing  vacant,  as  many  had  been ; 
and  no  one  knew  whither  their  owners  had  gone,  so  whoever 
wanted  one  of  these  empty  tenements  just  helped  himself. 
I  at  once  followed  the  fashion,  and  was  happy  in  my  choice. 
I  was  thenceforth  lodged  very  eligibly  till  the  owner  of  my 
cabin,  returning  from  a  prospecting  tour,  put  in  an  appear 
ance.  He  was  evidently  embarrassed  at  the  thought  that  his 
advent  must  seem  abrupt  and  unceremonious  ;  but  I  cut  short 
his  apologies  by  insisting  that  the  cabin  afforded  ample  ac 
commodation  for  two;  and  we  thenceforth  shared  it  very 
comfortably  for  the  few  days  that  I  tarried  in  Denver. 

While  thus  snugly  and  cheaply  lodged,  I  boarded  with  a 
widow  lady  from  Leaven  worth,  who  had  been  keeping  a  mail- 
station  on  the  plains,  but,  tiring  of  that,  had  just  migrated  to 
Denver,  and  jumped  a  cabin.  She,  with  her  little  son,  slept 
on  a  sort  of  shelf  nearer  the  roof  than  the  floor  of  her  single 
room;  while  two  male  boarders,  waiting  outside  while  she 
made  her  toilet,  spread  their  blankets  on  the  earth-floor  of 
her  tenement.  At  daylight,  they  turned  out,  giving  her  a 
chance  to  dress,  clear  up,  and  get  breakfast,  which  they  duly 
returned  to  eat.  Such  was  life  in  Denver  in  June,  1859. 


XLIV. 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  —  THE  GREAT  BASIN. 

I  MADE  a  flying  visit,  directly  after  reaching  Denver,  to 
the  then  new  "  Gregory  Diggings,"  on  Clear  Creek,  where 
is  now  Central  City.  A  good  road,  I  hear,  now  winds  thither 
through  the  mountains,  mainly  keeping  close  to  Clear  Creek ; 
but  that  was  impossible  in  1859  ;  as  even  an  empty  wagon 
would  have  been  capsized  into  or  toward  the  creek  at  least 
a  hundred  times  before  making  the  distance.  Our  route  lay 
across  the  South  Platte,  the  prairie  and  Clear  Creek  (where 
Golden  City  has  since  sprung  up),  and  then  right  up  the  face 
of  the  first  ridge,  rising  1,600  feet  in  a  mile  and  a  half,  —  an 
ascent  so  steep  as  to  appear  impossible  to  teams,  however 
lightly  loaded ;  and  even  saddle-horses  seemed  in  great  peril 
of  falling  off  and  rolling  to  the  bottom.  After  two  miles  of 
level  path  through  an  open  pine  forest  on  the  summit,  we  had 
to  descend  a  declivity  nearly  as  steep ;  then  ascend  a  second 
mountain  ;  and  so  on,  till  we  camped  at  sunset,  weary  enough, 
seven  miles  short  of  the  diggings,  which  we  reached  about 
nine  next  morning  ;  spending  the  day  and  night  with  the 
pioneers,  and  returning  to  the  Platte  Valley  the  day  after.  I 
saw  enough  on  that  trip  to  convince  me  that  the  Kocky 
Mountains  abound  in  Gold  and  nearly  all  other  metals,  but 
that  these  must  be  earned  before  they  can  be  enjoyed. 

I  bade  adieu  to  Denver  about  the  18th  of  June ;  having 
hired  an  "  ambulance,"  or  wagon  and  four  mules,  to  convey 
me  to  the  Overland  Mail-route  at  Fort  Laramie,  on  the  North 
Platte,  200  miles  northward.  I  judge  that  there  were  twenty 
considerable  streams  to  cross  in  that  distance,  —  all  then  in 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  —  THE   GREAT  BASIN.    369 

flood,  from  the  melting  snows  of  the  inner  and  higher  moun 
tains.  Several  of  these  streams  were  forded  with  difficulty 
by  our  team,  —  one  of  them  (the  Cache  le  Poudre)  being  as 
large  as  the  Charles  at  Cambridge.  I  think  we  saw  four  huts 
on  the  way,  but  only  three  of  them  were  occupied.  There 
was  no  White  person  then  living  within  fifty  miles  of  Che 
yenne,  where  the  Pacific  Kailroad  now  enters  the  Eocky 
Mountains ;  and  only  a  deserted  fort  or  military  camp  spoke 
of  civilization.  Yet  most  of  the  region  between  the  two 
Plattes  and  the  base  of  the  Kocky  Mountains  —  a  district 
equal  in  area  to  Connecticut,  if  not  to  Vermont  —  has  good 
soil,  is  tolerably  timbered,  grows  fine  grass  luxuriantly,  and 
will  yet  subsist  a  large  farming  population.  It  is  subject  to 
drouth,  but  may  easily  be  irrigated ;  and  then  its  product  of 
Wheat,  Oats,  Barley,  and  Eoots  will  be  immense.  I  judge 
that  nearly  all  the  larger  tributaries  of  the  Missouri  traverse 
a  good  farming  region  directly  under  the  Rocky  Mountains 
wherein  they  take  rise.  This  region  lies  from  4,500  to  6,000 
feet  above  tide,  and  hence  is  subject  to  frost,  hail,  and  late 
snow,  as  well  as  to  drouth ;  yet  I  predict  its  rapid  settlement 
and  growth.  I  wish  I  could  see  how  to  save  its  Aboriginal 
inhabitants  from  sure  and  speedy  extinction. 


After  waiting  five  days  at  Fort  Laramie,  I  took  the  mail 
stage  (then  weekly)  which  traversed  the  old  Oregon  as  well 
as  California  emigrant  trail  up  the  Platte  and  its  northern 
tributary,  the  Sweetwater,  to  that  wide  gap  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  known  as  the  South  Pass,  —  the  Sweetwater 
heading  on  the  west  side  of  the  mountains,  and  sending  (in 
Summer)  a  scanty  mill-stream  through  the  Pass.  Much  of 
this  region  is  quite  sterile  ;  snow  lay  deep  in  a  ravine  of  the 
Pass  on  the  5th  of  July;  while  there  is  one  large  swamp, 
thirty  or  forty  miles  this  side,  which  remains  frozen  a  foot  or 
two  below  the  surface  perpetually.  There  are  small  lakes  on 
this  route  that  look  most  inviting,  yet  so  surcharged  with 
alkaline  minerals  that  to  drink  freely  of  their  water  is  death 

24 


370  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

to  man  or  beast.  There  is  some  Yellow  Pine  on  the  hills,  with 
less  Cottonwood  and  Quaking  Asp,  mainly  skirting,  at  long 
intervals,  the  streams  ;  but  this  region  is,  for  the  most  part, 
unless  rich  in  minerals,  good  for  nothing.  I  learn  that  boun 
teous  mines  of  Gold  have  lately  been  found  here  ;  and  I  know 
that  the  indications  of  Gold  were  quite  palpable  on  the  hills 
in  the  Pass,  where  we  camped  and  spent  a  day  beside  a  run 
nel  which  brings  its  scanty  tribute  to  the  Sweetwater.  But, 
a  few  miles  beyond  the  South  Pass,  where  the  mountains  dis 
appear,  and  the  road  to  Utah  and  California  diverges  from 
the  old  trail  to  Oregon,  and  where  each  begins  to  descend 
toward  the  Pacific,  the  country  is  utterly  worthless  for  at 
least  two  hundred  miles ;  in  the  midst  of  which  we  crossed 
Green  River,  running  swiftly  southward,  in  a  very  deep,  nar 
row  valley,  which  yields  a  little  grass  and  less  Cottonwood. 
On  either  side  of  this  valley  stretch  dreary  wastes  of  thirsty 
sand,  shaded  only  by  the  two  low  shrubs/ known  locally  as 
Greasewood  and  Sagebrush,  which,  together,  enclose  a  thou 
sand  miles  of  the  Overland  Wagon-route,  and  probably  cover 
half  a  million  square  miles  of  the  interior  of  our  continent. 
Greasewood  is  a  species  of  Artemisia,  and  derives  its  vulgar 
name  from  a  waxy  or  resinous  property,  which  causes  it  to 
burn  freely,  even  while  green ;  but  it  grows  in  bunches  or 
stools  six  or  seven  feet  apart,  with  naked,  glittering  sand  be 
tween  them ;  and  so  defies  destruction  by  fire.  Sagebrush 
exhibits  a  number  of  shoots,  twelve  to  twenty  inches  long, 
from  a  common  stalk  or  stump  of  about  equal  height ;  each 
shoot  somewhat  resembling  a  stalk  of  Sage  in  appearance  and 
color.  There  is  a  Sage-Hen  that  eats  this  plant ;  but  who, 
unless  famishing,  would  thereafter  choose  to  eat  the  Sage- 
Hen  ? 

Fort  Bridger  was  the  first  village  we  had  seen  since  we  left 
Laramie ;  like  which,  it  owes  its  existence  to  a  military  post. 
It  is  traversed  by  a  brawling  mill-stream  (Ham's  Fork)  which 
is  rushing  to  be  lost  in  Green  River,  and  is  said  to  have  some 
arable  land  in  its  vicinity.  We  were  still  considerably  north 
of  the  present  route  of  the  Pacific  Railroad,  which  we  had 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  —  THE  GREAT  BASIN.    371 

crossed  and  left  near  Cheyenne;  but  soon,  crossing  a  high 
divide,  we  bore  southward,  and,  descending  rapidly,  forded 
Bear  River,  here  a  swift  stream  one  or  two  hundred  yards 
wide,  but  scarcely  more  than  two  feet  deep.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  the  Pacific  Eailroad  cannot  follow  this  river  hence  to 
Salt  Lake ;  but  the  course  of  the  stream  is  so  tortuous  and  so 
shut  in  by  mountains  and  difficult  precipices  that  this  may 
not  be.  I  judge  that,  next  to  the  Sierra  Nevada,  already 
nearly  vanquished,  the  stretch  from  Green  River  to  Salt 
Lake  —  some  three  hundred  miles  —  is  the  most  difficult 
section  of  the  entire  work.  But  the  route  we  traversed, 
leaving  that  of  the  railroad  far  on  our  right  (north),  rises 
easily  out  of  the  valley  of  Bear  Elver,  and  thence  follows 
down  a  long,  narrow,  grassy  valley  or  glen  known  as  Echo 
Canon,  with  steep  cliffs  on  either  side,  emerges  from  it  to 
cross  Weber  River  (also  a  tributary  of  Salt  Lake),  and  thence 
crosses  two  difficult  ridges  of  the  Wahsatch  and  Uintah 
mountains,  whence  it  winds  down  a  ravine  known  as  Emigra 
tion  Canon  till  that  opens  into  the  valley  of  the  River  Jordan 
and  of  Salt  Lake  ;  and  soon  we  roll  into  the  city  of  the  many- 
wived  prophet,  the  capital  of  his  sacerdotal  and  political 
empire,  and  the  most  conspicuous  trophy  of  his  genius  and 
his  power. 

That  city  has  so  changed  since  I  saw  it,  —  being  now  prob 
ably  at  least  thrice  its  size  nine  years  ago,  —  that  I  will 
speak  of  it  briefly,  and  only  as  to  certain  permanent  phases  of 
its  character.  My  present  belief  is  that,  like  most  strangers, 
I  was  more  favorably  impressed  by  it  than  I  should  have 
been.  Not  that  its  more  intelligent  people  received  me  kindly 
and  treated  me  with  emphatic  hospitality,  —  I  have  been  thus 
welcomed  to  other  cities,  which  nevertheless  did  not  specially 
impress  me.  But  a  thousand  miles  of  parched,  mountainous 
desert  (counting  from  Denver  only)  on  which  I  had  seen  no 
single  productive  farm,  and  nothing  that  could  be  fairly  termed 
a  house  but  a  few  cheap  structures  for  officers'  lodgings  at 
Forts  Laramie  and  Bridger  —  no  vegetables,  no  furniture,  no 
beds,  —  had  predisposed  me  to  greet  even  the  ruder  appliances 


372  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

of  urban  life  with  uncritical  satisfaction.  Our  civilization,  re 
garded  as  an  end,  is  faulty  enough,  and  open  to  objections 
from  every  side  ;  but,  considered  as  a  stage  in  our  progress 
from  the  status  of  the  Esquimaux,  the  Digger,  the  Hottentot, 
I  submit  that  it  may  be  contemplated  with  a  complacency  by 
no  means  unreasonable.  Soon  after  leaving  the  last  Kansas 
settlement,  I  noted  the  rounds  of  the  ladder  I  had  descended 
during  the  preceding  fortnight,  and  photographed  them  as 
follows  :— 

"  May  \2th,  Chicago,  —  Chocolate  and  morning  journals  last  seen 
on  the  hotel  breakfast- table. 

23d,  Leavenworth. — Room-bells  and  bath-tubs  make  their  final 
appearance. 

2£th,  Topeka.  —  Beef-steaks  and  wash-bowls  (other  than  tin)  last 
visible.  Barber  ditto. 

2Qth,  Manhattan.  —  Potatoes  and  eggs  last  recognized  among  the 
blessings  that  "brighten  as  they  take  their  flight."  Chairs  ditto. 

27th,  Junction  City.  —  Last  visitation  of  a  boot-black,  with  dis 
solving  views  of  a  board  bedroom.  Beds  bid  us  good  by. 

28th,  Pipe  Creek.  —  Benches  for  seats  at  meals  disappeared,  giv 
ing  place  to  bags  and  boxes.  We  (two  passengers  of  a  scribbling 
turn)  write  letters  to  our  journals  at  nightfall  in  the  express-wagon 
that  has  borne  us  by  day,  and  must  serve  us  as  bedchamber  for 
the  night.  Thunder  and  lightning,  from  both  south  and  west, 
give  strong  promise  of  a  shower  before  morning.  Our  trust,  under 
Providence,  is  in  buoyant  hearts  and  a  rubber  blanket.  Good 
night ! " 

I  descended  somewhat  farther  afterward,  and  I  did  not 
think  of  hardship,  though  the  water  was  often  scanty,  as  well 
as  bad,  and  the  pilot-bread  had  been  so  long  exposed  to  the 
drying  air  of  the  Plains  that  human  teeth  could  hardly  pene 
trate  it.  Those  who  fancy  army  "hard-tack"  dry  eating 
would  devour  it  thankfully,  after  being  rationed  a  single  week 
on  that  which  I  confronted  on  the  Sweetwater  and  the  Colo 
rado.  But  hard-tack  is  wholesome,  if  not  toothsome ;  while 
the  bread  made  on  the  Plains,  of  nearly  equal  parts  of  flour 
and  saleratus,  baked  in  a  frying-pan  or  spider,  and  eaten  hot, 


THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.  —  THE   GREAT  BASIN.    373 

though  I  ate  it  with  facility,  destroyed  my  digestion,  and 
made  me  sick,  —  there  being  nothing  to  relish  it  but  poorly 
smoked  pork,  except  tea  and  coffee,  which  I  declined.  With 
good  water,  I  could  stand  almost  anything ;  but  this  was  often 
unattainable,  and  I  suffered  for  want  of  it. 

Salt  Lake  City  suddenly  restored  us  to  abundance  and  com 
fort, —  rooms,  beds,  sheets,  towels,  vegetables,  dried  fruits, 
shade,  &c. ;  while  the  water  was  beautiful  and  good.  The 
Mormons  have  faults ;  but  they  are  more  uniformly  indus 
trious  and  (after  their  fashion)  pious  than  any  other  people  I 
ever  visited.  I  doubt  whether  there  is  another  city  on  the 
continent  wherein  family  worship  is  so  general,  and  profanity 
so  rare,  as  in  Salt  Lake  City,  so  far  as  its  Mormon  inhabitants 
are  considered.  I  must  believe  the  authors  of  their  revela 
tions  either  knavish  or  self-deluded ;  but  I  have  such  a  liking 
for  solid,  steady,  bona  fide  work,  that  the  rank  and  file  have 
my  most  hearty  good  wishes.  Nowhere  else  are  there  so  few 
idlers  (Brigham  Young  assured  me  that  there  was  none  but 
himself ;  and  he  is  kept  busy  in  his  vocation  of  prophet  and 
ruler),  and  nowhere  else  have  so  few  poor  and  ignorant  people 
achieved  so  much  that  remains  to  benefit  future  generations, 
as  in  Utah.  I  cherish  the  hope  that  their  spiritual  vision 
will  soon  be  cleared,  and  that  they  will  yet,  ceasing  to  be 
polygamists,  become  better  Christians,  —  retaining  the  habits 
of  industry,  frugality,  and  thrift,  which  command  my  hearty 
admiration.  "  He  builded  better  than  he  knew  "  is  a  truth  of 
very  wide  application  ;  and  I  am  confident  that  the  Pacific 
Eailroad,  of  which  Brigham  Young  is  grading  the  thirty 
miles  next  northeast  of  his  metropolis,  is  destined  to  work 
changes  which  it  is  well  that  he  does  not  foresee,  and  which 
will  render  his  dominions  more  populous  and  his  people  far 
less  docile  to  his  guidance  than  they  now  are.  I  judge  our 
age  inauspicious  to  prophets  and  new  revelations  from  on 
high ;  and,  though  the  past  history  of  Utah  seems  to  refute 
my  theory,  I  confidently  expect  that  of  the  next  twenty  years 
to  confirm  it. 


XLV. 

UTAH.  — NEVADA. 

APOBTTON  of  our  little  army,  despatched  from  Kansas 
late  in  1857  to  put  down  a  threatened  (or  apprehended) 
revolt  of  the  Mormons,  had  stopped  for  the  Winter  at  Fort 
Bridger,  after  its  trains,  following  carelessly  in  its  rear,  had,  not 
far  from  the  Colorado,  been  surprised  and  burned  by  a  Mormon 
force,  rendering  its  Winter  sojourn  in  that  desolate  region 
one  of  great  hardship,  especially  for  its  animals ;  but  it  finally 
marched  into  the  Mormon  settlements  unopposed,  —  the  chief 
Saints  protesting  that  they  had  never  purposed  rebellion 
against  the  National  authority.  The  expedition,  which  had 
threatened  a  bloody  tragedy,  was  thus  transformed  into  a  most 
expensive  farce ;  for,  though  the  regulars  were  hardly  more 
out  of  place  in  Utah  than  they  had  been  in  Kansas,  they  were 
a  far  more  costly  nuisance.  Every  pound  of  their  sustenance 
had  been  hauled  across  twelve  hundred  miles  of  desert  and 
mountain  at  a  cost  of  $400  or  $500  per  ton,  —  or,  at  any 
rate,  was  charged  for  as  if  it  had  been.  And,  when  I  visited 
Camp  Floyd,  where  it  was  stationed,  forty-five  miles  south 
west  of  Salt  Lake  City,  officers  wTere  engaged,  under  orders 
from  Washington,  in  selling  its  heavy  trains  at  auction,  at 
prices  possibly  averaging  one  half  the  actual  value  of  the 
mules  and  one  tenth  that  of  the  wagons,  —  the  bidders  being 
few,  and  evidently  combined  to  give  Uncle  Sam  the  worst 
bargains  possible.  Governments  are  made  to  be  plundered,  — 
at  all  events,  are  regularly  used  to  that  end.  I  presume  that, 
when  the  army  was  ordered  from  Camp  Floyd  to  Texas  the 
next  year,  part  of  these  same  wagons  were  bought  back  from 


UTAH.  —  NEVADA.  375 

their  purchasers  at  generous  prices,  —  which  by  no  means 
implies  any  generosity  on  the  part  of  those  who  bought  them 
of  the  government  and  sold  them  back  again. 

I  spent  a  day  at  Camp  Floyd  as  the  guest  of  my  oldest 
army  acquaintance,  Lieutenant-Colonel  D.  C.  Ruggles,  5th 
Infantry,  whom  I  had  first  known  in  1835  as  a  Massachusetts 
cadet,  just  appointed  to  a  lieutenancy ;  and  who,  having  mar 
ried  in  Virginia,  afterward  became  a  General  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  We  dined  with  the  commander  of  the  post, 
Colonel  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  —  a  grave,  deep,  able  man, 
with  a  head  scarcely  inferior  to  Daniel  Webster's,  —  who,  less 
than  two  years  afterward,  left  Texas  overland  to  take  part  in 
the  Rebellion,  and  finally  found  death  on  the  bloody  field  of 
Shiloh  or  Pittsburg  Landing,  where  he  led  the  Eebel  host 
with  a  gallantry  and  soldiership  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  If 
some  wizard  had  foreshadowed  to  us  the  future,  as  we  sat 
around  his  hospitable  board  not  three  years  before,  who  would 
have  believed  him  ? 


Camp  Floyd  had  been  located  beside  a  small  but  constant 
stream,  with  considerable  stunted,  bushy  Cedar  covering  the 
low  mountains  adjacent,  whence  it  issued ;  but  the  stage-route 
thence  to  California  rose  gradually  from  its  valley  into  a  hilly, 
burnt-up  region  south  westward ;  and  thenceforth,  till  we  bore 
up  to  strike  the  Humboldt  at  Gravelly  Ford,  some  three  hun 
dred  miles  westward,  I  can  remember  seeing  but  three  brooks 
of  any  account,  —  neither  of  those  carrying  water  enough  to 
render  it  a  decent  mill-stream ;  and  neither,  I  judge,  running 
more  than  five  miles  from  the  clustered  mountains  between 
which  it  was  cradled,  till  the  arid,  thirsty  plain  had  drank 
the  last  drop,  and  left  its  shallow  bed  thenceforth  in  Summer 
a  stretch  of  dry,  hot  gravel  and  sand.  We  may  have  passed 
a  dozen  springs  in  this  distance,  though  I  believe  we  did  not. 
In  one  place,  there  was  a  stretch  of  fifty  miles  from  water  to 
water,  save  that  some  had  been  carted  in  barrels  to  quench 
the  thirst  of  our  jaded  mules  at  a  point  half-way  from  one 


376  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

station  to  another.  Twice,  as  I  recollect,  we  sat  down  to  our 
noonday  meal  of  pork  and  bread  beside  springs  by  courtesy, 
where  water  had  been  found  by  shallow  digging  in  depressions 
or  "  sinks "  below  the  usual  surface  of  the  plains ;  but  the 
warm,  sulphurous  fluid  thence  obtained  required  intense  thirst 
to  render  it  potable.  In  one  place,  I  recollect  several  miles 
of  the  all-pervading  Grease-wood  and  Sage-brush  which  had 
been  killed  stone-dead,  —  dried  up,  apparently,  though  their 
power  of  resisting  drouth  is  unparalleled ;  yet  stunted  Bunch 
Cedar  and  some  Indian  Pine  thinly  covered  the  brows  or  the 
crests  of  many  hills  and  low  mountains ;  seeming  able  to  resist 
a  droutli  even  of  successive  years.  The  country  is  so  broken 
and  mountainous  that  I  presume  Artesian  wells  have  since 
been,  or  will  easily  be,  dug  in  the  reckless  clay  of  the  valleys, 
which  will  supply  water,  not  only  for  drinking,  but  for  irriga 
tion  ;  and  the  valleys  need  but  this  to  render  their  alkaline 
clay  bounteously  productive.  I  judge  that  the  surface  of 
most  of  them  has  been  raised  twenty  to  fifty  feet  by  earth 
washed  down,  in  the  course  of  ages,  from  the  circumjacent 
mountains,  and  that,  when  irrigated,  they  will  be  cultivated 
with  facility,  and  with  ample  success.  The  Mormons  raise 
bounteous  crops,  especially  of  Wheat,  wherever  they  can  coax 
a  stream  to  meander  across  and  percolate  through  a  portion 
of  one  of  their  valleys  ;  and  I  presume  most  of  those  between 
the  Wahsatch  and  the  Sierra  Nevada  need  but  water  to  prove 
them  equally  fertile.  Many  of  the  mountains,  I  doubt  not, 
wiU  prove  rich  in  minerals ;  but  they  are  rarely  or  never 
arable,  produce  a  very  little  grass  in  Spring  only ;  and  their 
scanty,  fitful  covering  of  wood,  once  cut  off,  would  not  be  re 
produced  in  a  century. 

Bear  in  mind  that  the  route  I  travelled  rather  skirts  than 
pierces  the  desert  of  deserts  which  spreads  southwestward  of 
Salt  Lake,  nearly  or  quite  to  the  Colorado ;  covering  many 
thousands  of  square  miles.  A  friend,  now  deceased,  once 
found  himself  "  at  sea  "  on  this  desert,  and  likely  to  perish  of 
thirst ;  but  he  had  a  noble  horse,  to  which  he  gave  a  free  rein  ; 
and  that  horse  brought -him  off  alive,  —  that  was  all.  He 


UTAH.  —  NEVADA.  377 

crossed  miles  on  miles  of  pure  rock  salt,  —  how  deep,  he  could 
not  say;  but  he  brought  away  a  fragment  which  had  been 
washed  and  worn  into  a  nearly  round  log.  as  large  as  a  man's 
thigh,  and  three  or  four  feet  long,  which  I  saw.  Another 
friend,  who  explored  a  route  from  Austin,  Nevada,  to  the 
Colorado  (on  the  western  verge  of  this  desert),  rode,  for  days, 
down  the  bed  of  what  had  once  been  a  considerable  river,  but 
which  seemed  to  have  been  absolutely  dry  for  years. 

There  is  ample  corroborating  proof  that  the  Great  Basin 
has  been  far  less  parched  than  it  is ;  and  I  trust  that  a  more 
generous  rain-fall  will  again  be  accorded  it.  Probably,  re- 
clothing  it  with  timber  would  renew  its  rains ;  but  then  the 
rains  seem  to  be  needed  to  start  and  sustain  the  timber. 
Two  or  three  hundred  miles  north,  several  streams  take  rise 
that  make  their  way  northward  to  the  Columbia ;  as  the 
Humboldt,  issuing  from  the  west  side  of  the  same  mountainous 
region,  runs  over  three  hundred  miles  W.S.W.,  to  be  lost  in 
a  sandy,  reedy  marsh,  not  a  hundred  miles  from  the  Sierra 
Nevada;  but,  southward  of  this  strange  river  of  desolation, 
there  is  rarely  a  stream  large  enough  to  turn  a  grindstone, 
till  you  are  very  near  the  banks  of  the  almost  equally  lone 
some  Colorado. 

I  rode  more  than  two  hundred  miles  down  the  south  or 
left  bank  of  the  Humboldt.  In  that  distance,  I  judge  that 
all  the  water  it  receives  from  tributaries  might  be  passed 
through  a  nine-inch  ring ;  and  the  stream,  of  course,  grew 
smaller  and  smaller  as  it  flowed.  Possibly,  three  springs  were 
passed  in  all  that  distance,  though  I  cannot  remember  so 
many ;  while  I  do  right  well  remember  my  scarcely  modi 
fied  thirst.  The  alkaline  water  of  the  Humboldt  I  could  not 
drink,  though  others  did;  in  Spring,  when  its  volume  is 
greater,  its  quality  is  probably  better.  Once,  we  stopped  by  a 
small  brook  tumbling  down  from  high  adjacent  mountains  on 
the  left,  and  I  drank  my  fill  of  its  warm,  sweet  water ;  but 
for  this,  I  must  have  remained  thirsty  throughout.  And,  in 
all  the  two  hundred  miles,  I  believe  I  did  not  see  wood 
enough  to  keep  a  Yankee  farmer's  fire  going  through  a  Winter. 


378  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Willow-bushes,  skirting  the  little  river,  were  nearly  all. 
Even  the  mountain  ranges,  from  one  to  five  miles  distant  on 
either  side,  showed  no  timber,  or  next  to  none.  And,  when 
we  came  at  length  to  that  expansion  of  the  stream  which  is 
called  a  lake,  no  raft,  boat,  or  even  canoe,  floated  on  its  bosom 
or  was  moored  to  either  bank,  and  a  cottage  built  of  stones 
and  clay  constituted  the  mail-station  at  its  foot.  Thence,  we 
crossed  a  waste  of  sand  forty  miles  wide,  which  separates  the 
"  sink  "  of  the  Humboldt  from  the  kindred  marsh  that  drinks 
up  the  waters  of  the  Carson,  which  comes  down  from  the 
Sierra  ;  and,  following  up  the  latter,  by  what  is  now  Virginia 
City,  but  then  was  nothing,  we  stopped  to  eat  at  Genoa,  - 
then  the  only  considerable  village  in  what  has  since  become 
Nevada,  —  and  rested  our  weary  limbs  at  dark,  after  a  night- 
and-day  ride  of  four  hundred  miles  (five  days  and  four  nights 
from  Shell  Creek  in  Western  Utah),  in  a  wooden  hotel,  at  the 
very  foot  of  the  Sierra  Nevada. 

There  was  then  no  Austin,  and  no  real  mining  in  what  is 
now  Nevada.  The  auriferous  and  argentiferous  deposit  or 
vein  now  known  as  the  Comstock  lode  had  just  been  dis 
covered,  —  that  was  about  all.  The  natural  grass  of  the  upper 
end  of  Carson  Valley  had  previously  attracted  a  few  settlers, 
who  were  weary  of  mining  in  California,  or  worn  out  with 
travel  across  the  desert  and  reluctant  to  scale  the  Sierra; 
and,  though  the  valley  must  be  fully  six  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  must  inevitably  be  frosty,  its  beauty  and  verdure 
fully  justify  their  partiality.  I  estimate  that  three  hundred 
habitations,  mainly  log,  are  quite  as  many  as  existed  in  the 
entire  region  which  is  now  the  State  of  Nevada,  that  its  civ 
ilized  population  did  not  exceed  five  thousand,  and  that  its 
aggregate  product  was  barely  adequate  to  the  subsistence  even 
of  this  number.  To-day,  Nevada  produces  more  silver,  and 
little  less  gold,  than  any  other  State  or  Territory;  and  the 
next  census  will  give  her  a  population  of  at  least  two  hun 
dred  thousand. 


XLVI. 

THE  SIERRA  NEVADA.  —  THE  YOSEMITE.  —  THE  BIG- 
TREES. 

ACLEAE,  warm,  golden  1st  of  August  —  such  a  day  as 
the  Pacific  slope  of  our  continent  abounds  in  —  took  us 
across  the  Sierra  Nevada  by  the  double-summit  route  that  fol 
lows  up  one  branch  of  the  Carson  to  its  source,  then  descends 
rapidly  into  the  valley  of  Lake  Bigler,  thence  climbs  diago 
nally  the  mountain  west  of  it  by  a  steep  ascent  of  two  miles, 
crosses  its  summit,  and  descends  again,  following  a  depression 
in  which  springs  give  birth  to  rills,  which  speedily  collect  into 
a  brook,  which  goes  brawling  and  leaping  down  the  western 
declivity  of  the  Sierra,  and  has  become  quite  a  little  river 
(South  Fork  of  the  American)  at  a  point  twenty  or  thirty 
miles  down,  where  we  crossed  its  valley  from  the  northern 
to  the  southern  bank,  and,  rising  thence  to  the  summit  of  a 
ridge  or  "  divide "  on  the  south,  ran  rapidly  down  it  to  the 
thriving  city  of  Placerville,  at  the  base  of  the  range,  in  Cali 
fornia's  great  central  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 

The  Sierra  Nevada  is  probably  more  heavily  timbered  than 
any  other  range  of  mountains  on  the  continent.  On  the  Ne 
vada  side,  this  timber  is  of  moderate  size,  and  almost  wholly 
of  Yellow  or  Pitch  Pine,  with  a  few  deciduous  trees  in  the 
narrow  ravines  of  the  streams ;  while,  on  the  far  longer  slope 
that  looks  toward  the  Pacific,  immense  Yellow  and  Sugar 
Pines,  often  eight  feet  through,  thickly  cover  thousands  of 
square  miles,  interspersed  with  White  Cedars  from  four  to  six 
feet  in  diameter,  stately  Balsam  Firs,  a  considerable  variety 
of  White,  Eed,  Live,  and  Rock  Oaks,  with  a  few  other  trees. 
Such  a  wealth  of  magnificent  timber  profoundly  impresses  the 


380  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

traveller,  who  has  seen  nothing  like  it  since  he  left  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Eocky  Mountains,  and  a  plentiful  lack  of 
trees  everywhere  else  since  he  bade  adieu  to  the  Kansas,  now 
so  many  hundred  miles  away.  The  valleys  and  lower  slopes 
of  California  are  often  quite  bare,  though  wide-branching 
Oaks  are  thinly  scattered  over  a  portion  of  the  latter ;  and  I 
saw  here  —  what  I  never  saw  elsewhere  —  living  trees  (Buck 
eye)  six  to  eight  inches  through,  with  every  leaf  killed  by 
drouth  on  the  1st  of  August,  so  that  they  would  exhibit  no 
sign  of  verdure  again  till  after  the  heavy  rains  of  the  ensuing 
Winter.  The  dryness  of  earth  and  atmosphere  on  the  Pacific 
slope  in  Summer  and  Autumn  can  only  be  realized  by  those 
who  have  experienced  it.  I  saw  the  Mormon  farmers  cutting 
heavy  grass  by  the  margin  of  Salt  Lake  ;  but  they  found  no 
process  of  hay-making  necessary.  Though  its  color  was  still 
a  bright  green,  they  raked  it  up  unspread,  and  stacked  it 
without  ceremony,  knowing  that  the  atmosphere  would  mean 
time  have  sucked  every  atom  of  superfluous  moisture  out  of 
the  greenest  of  it.  I  presume  this  is  the  case,  southward  of 
Oregon,  nearly  or  quite  to  the  Isthmus  of  Darien. 

My  visit  to  the  chief  wonders  of  California  —  the  Yosemite 
and  the  Big  Trees  —  was  necessarily  hurried,  but  otherwise 
satisfactory.  The  sky  was  cloudless,  as  that  of  California  al 
most  uniformly  is  from  May  till  October;  the  days  were 
warm,  but  not  excessively  so;  the  journey  was  made  on 
horseback,  and  in  good  part  under  the  shade  of  giant  ever 
greens.  There  were  hundreds  of  acres  covered  almost  exclu 
sively  by  the  Balsam  Fir,  sixty  to  eighty  feet  high,  and  one 
to  two  feet  in  diameter,  growing  at  an  elevation  of  fully  5,000 
feet  above  tide,  where  the  snows  of  Winter  are  so  heavy  and 
so  many  that  the  limbs  of  the  Fir  are  depressed  at  their  ex 
tremities,  so  as  to  form  a  series  of  umbrellas  (as  it  were)  rising 
one  above  another.  Two  high,  steep  mountains  —  one  on 
either  side  of  the  South  Merced  —  are  surmounted  by  what, 
in  1859,  were  difficult  bridle-paths,  ere  you  strike  at "  Grizzly 
Flat,"  the  source  of  a  little  runnel  which  meanders  through 
an  upland  meadow  or  grassy  morass  to  the  brink  of  the  great 
chasm,  into  which  it  pours  itself  by  a  fall  of  some  2,500  feet, 


THE  SIERRA  NEVADA.  —  THE   YOSEMITE.  381 

which  dissolves  it  into  a  white  foam,  whence  it  is  afflicted 
with  the  lackadaisical  appellation  of  "  The  Bridal  Veil."  The 
fall  is  not  to  blame  for  this,  but  some  of  its  early  visitors  are. 

The  Yosemite  is  the  grandest  marvel  of  the  continent.  It 
is  a  rift  or  cleft  in  the  Sierra  Nevada,  ten  miles  long,  averag 
ing  half  a  mile  wide  at  the  bottom,  and  perhaps  a  mile  at  the 
top ;  its  depth  ranging  from  3,000  to  4,000  feet,  though  one  or 
two  of  the  peaks  on  the  north  are  said  to  rise  5,000  feet  above 
the  surface  of  the  Merced.  There  are  three  points  at  which 
access  is  had  to  the  valley,  —  one  of  them  by  clambering  down 
the  rocks  near  its  head ;  the  other  two  by  zigzagging  down 
either  brink  near  its  lower  end.  These  are  bridle-paths  ;  the 
other,  a  foot-path  only.  That  on  the  side  of  Mariposa  is  two 
miles  long  ;  and  we  were  two  good  hours  in  winding  down  it 
through  woods,  with  the  moon's  rays  obscured  to  us  by  the 
interposition  of  the  mountain  whose  north  face  we  were  de 
scending.  It  was  midnight  when  we  reached  its  foot,  and 
halted  in  the  narrow,  grassy  valley  of  the  stream,  right  in 
front  of  a  perpendicular  wall  of  gray  granite  3,000  feet  high, 
with  a  few  Yellow  Pines  rooted  in  the  crevices  which  at  long 
intervals  creased  it,  and  seeming,  with  the  mountain  itself, 
about  to  be  precipitated  upon  us. 

Nothing  else  dwells  in  my  memory  that  is  at  all  comparable 
in  awe-inspiring  grandeur  and  sublimity  to  this  wondrous 
chasm.  I  judge  that  the  soft  granite  frequently  found  in 
streaks  or  belts  by  the  miners  of  California  —  granite  in 
chemical  composition,  but  of  the  consistency  of  a  rather  solid 
boiled  pudding  —  here  existed  on  a  much  larger  scale,  until 
the  little  river  (in  Summer,  a  large  mill-stream  only)  gradually 
dug  it  out,  and  bore  it  away,  till  the  last  of  it  had  disappeared. 
I  was  told  in  the  valley  that  repeated  efforts  of  miners  to  dig 
down  to  the  "  bed-rock,"  in  quest  of  mineral,  had  proved  fail 
ures,  —  the  sand  and  gravel,  interspersed  with  bowlders,  ap 
pearing  unfathomable.  The  little  streams  from  either  brink 
which,  at  several  points,  leap  into  the  valley,  have,  by  the 
aid  of  frost  and  freshet,  hurled  millions  of  tons  of  rock  and 
earth  into  the  chasm,  forming  gigantic  deposits  of  dttbris,  over 
which  the  road  up  the  valley  carries  you,  generally  through 


382  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

woods,  affording  difficult  footing  for  men  or  animals,  especially 
by  night.  Fording  brooks,  stumbling  over  rocks,  winding 
among  trees,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  six  miles  from  the 
point  where  we  entered  the  Valley  to  the  two  cottages  or  huts 
near  its  centre  would  never  end ;  but  they  did  end  at  last, 
about  2  A.  M.  ;  and  I  dismounted,  and  lay  down  to  a  welcome, 
though  unquiet,  slumber.  I  was  covered  with  boils  (the  pen 
alty  of  drinking  the  alkaline  waters  of  Colorado,  Utah,  and 
Nevada),  and  had  ridden  in  torture  since  noon,  bearing  my 
weight  on  my  toes,  barely  stuck  into  Mexican  stirrups  far  too 
small  for  me,  whereby  my  feet  had  been  so  lamed  that  I  could 
scarcely  walk ;  hence,  the  prospect  of  soon  rising  to  resume 
my  travels  was  by  no  means  alluring.  I  did  rise,  however ; 
took  breakfast;  rode  to  the  head  of  the  Valley;  examined 
with  some  care  the  famous  fall ;  dined ;  and,  at  2  P.  M.,  started 
homeward ;  reaching  Clark's  ranche,  on  the  South  Merced, 
at  10  P.  M. 

Let  me  explain  that  the  Yosemite  fall  is  not  that  of  the 
Merced,  which  enters  the  valley,  at  its  head,  by  several  suc 
cessive  leaps  in  a  wild,  rocky  gorge  or  canon,  and  leaves  it  by 
one  even  more  impracticable,  —  giant  blocks  of  granite  being 
piled  for  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  boiling 
current,  and  completely  hiding  it  from  view.  The  Yosemite 
is  a  side-stream  or  tributary,  coming  from  the  north  or  higher 
mountains,  and,  having  itself  worn  down  its  bed  to  a  depth  of 
a  thousand  feet,  leaps  thence  2,600  feet  into  the  chasm, 
making  a  single  plunge  of  1,600  feet.  When  I  saw  it,  there 
was  barely  water  in  the  Yosemite  to  turn  the  wheels  of  an 
average  grist-mill ;  but  in  Winter  and  Spring  there  is  proba 
bly  twenty  to  forty  'times  as  much.  The  spectacle  is  rather 
pleasing  than  sublime,  —  the  Mississippi,  when  in  highest 
flood,  having  scarcely  sufficient  volume  to  save  such  a  descent 
from  seeming  disproportioned  and  trivial. 

Of  Big  Trees,  there  are  two  principal  groups  in  California, — 
the  Calaveras  and  the  Mariposas.  The  former  is  more  widely 
known,  because  quite  accessible ;  and  it  boasts  two  or  three 
of  the  largest  trees ;  but  it  has  barely  250  in  all,  while  the 


THE   YOSEMITE.  —  THE  BIG  TREES.  383 

Mariposas  has  600.  They  stand  in  a  shallow  valley  or  de 
pression  on  the  mountains,  some  5,000  feet  above  the  sea 
level,  and  2,500  above  the  South  Merced  at  Clark's,  five  miles 
distant. 

That  which  was  clearly  largest  fell  several  years  ago,  bury 
ing  itself  in  the  stony  earth  to  a  depth  of  four  feet,  and  ex 
hibiting  a  length  of  nearly  or  quite  400  feet.  Formerly,  two 
horses  were  ridden  abreast  for  some  200  feet  through  the 
cavity,  which  successive  fires  had  enlarged  in  it.  It  is  still 
easy  thus  to  ride  through  it,  but  the  hollow  has  been  burned 
out,  so  that  it  is  now  much  shorter.  Several  of  the  trees  still 
standing  and  alive  are  said  to  be  over  100  feet  in  circumfer 
ence  ;  many  are  80  to  90  feet,  with  a  bark  at  least  eighteen 
inches  thick,  a  very  little  sap  (white)  under  it,  —  the  residue 
of  the  enormous  bulk  being  a  light,  dry,  reddish  heart,  which 
burns  easily,  eVen  while  the  tree  is  green,  but  is  scarcely 
prone  to  natural  decay.  Several  of  these  giants  rise  a  full 
hundred  feet  before  putting  forth  a  limb ;  none  have  many 
branches,  but  some  of  these  are  six  feet  through.  They  are 
a  species  of  Cedar,  —  identical  with  the  Cedars  of  Lebanon, 
our  guide  asserted ;  but  I  presume  he  only  guessed  so.  Their 
foliage  is  scarcely,  if  at  all,  larger  than  that  of  the  Yellow 
Pines  and  White  Cedars  growing  among  or  near  them ;  many 
of  these  being  six  to  eight  feet  in  diameter  near  the  earth. 

Within  the  next  two  years,  the  Central  Pacific  Railroad 
will  have  been  completed,  when  passengers  will  leave  New 
York  on  Monday  morning,  and  dine  in  San  Francisco  the 
sixth  evening  thereafter.  Then  the  trip,  which  I  found  te 
dious  and  rugged,  will  be  rapid  and  easy,  with  every  needed 
comfort  and  luxury  proffered  on  arid  stretches  of  desert, 
where  I  washed  down  the  Mail  Company's  ancient  pork  and 
hot  saleratus  bread  with  more  unwholesome  and  detesta 
ble  warm  alkaline  water  than  (I  trust)  I  shall  ever  be  con 
strained  to  swallow  hereafter.  I  hope  to  be  one  of  the  party 
who  make  the  first  excursion  through  trip  to  San  Francisco, 
there  to  rejoice  with  my  countrymen  in  the  completion  of  the 
grandest  and  most  beneficent  enterprise  ever  inaugurated  and 
perfected  by  man. 


XLVII. 

THE    FUTURE    OF   CALIFORNIA. 

ILINGEK  yet  by  the  shores  of  the  vast  Pacific  ;  for  I  feel 
that  the  general  mind  is  still  inadequately  impressed  with 
the  majestic  promise  that  impels  the  resistless  tendency  of 
our  Gothic  race  toward  the  sands  of  that  mighty  sea.  I  do 
grievously  err,  if  the  historian  of  a  future  century  does  not 
instance  the  discovery  of  the  Columbia  by  a  Yankee,  and  the 
finding  of  Gold  in  Upper  California  so  soon  after  that  country 
had  fallen  into  our  hands,  as  among  the  most  memorable  and 
fortunate  incidents  in  the  annals  of  our  continent,  and  hence 
of  mankind. 

On  Gold  per  se,  I  place  no  high  estimate.  If  all  the  science 
and  labor  which  have  been  devoted  by  our  people  to  the  dis 
covery  and  extraction  of  the  Precious  Metals  had  been  as 
faithfully  applied  to  the  production  of  Iron,  Coal,  Copper, 
Lead,  Tin,  Salt,  Gypsum,  Marble,  Slate,  &c.,  I  believe  our 
country  would  have  been  richer  and  our  people  wiser  and 
happier.  Even  if  we  could  regard  the  abundant  possession 
of  Gold  and  Silver  as  a  chief  good,  it  is  plain  that  the  coun 
tries  which  produce  are  not  those  which  most  amply  retain 
and  enjoy  them. 

But  mines  or  deposits  of  Gold  and  Silver  are  prominent 
among  the  means  whereby  attention  and  population  are 
drawn  to  a  region  previously  unpeopled,  or  thinly  peopled  by 
savages.  Men  rush  madly  and  in  thousands  to  a  district  re 
ported  auriferous ;  defying  famine,  heat,  cold,  pestilence,  and 
even  death  itself.  Mining  or  washing  for  Gold  combines  the 
fascinations  of  gambling  —  the  chance  of  sudden  riches  — 


THE  FUTURE   OF  CALIFORNIA.  385 

with  the  sober  incitements  of  regular  and  laudable  industry : 
hence,  it  always  did,  and  always  will,  allure  vast  numbers  to 
brave  peril  and  privation  in  its  behoof.  In  time,  the  bubble 
bursts  ;  the  glamour  is  dispelled  ;  but  thousands  have  mean 
time  found  new  homes  and  formed  new  habits ;  hence,  a  new 
civilized  community. 

I  judge  that  gold-mining  in  California  is  nearly  "  played 
out."  True,  there  are  many  good  veins  there  which  will  con 
tinue  to  be  worked  at  a  profit  for  hundreds  of  years  yet, 
during  which  many  more  and  some  better  will  doubtless  be 
discovered  and  opened ;  but  this  is  sober  business,  requiring 
capital,  science,  luck,  patience,  to  insure  success ;  while  the 
jovial,  free-handed  heroes  of  pick  and  pan  have  passed  away 
forever,  —  some  to  Nevada ;  some  to  Arizona ;  others  to 
Montana,  Idaho,  &c.,  &c.,  —  many  to  the  land  of  shadows,  — 
and  the  river-beds  and  "gulches"  that  knew  them  shall 
know  them  no  more.  California  still  exports  Gold  largely ; 
but  most  of  it  is  produced  in  Nevada,  Montana,  British  Co 
lumbia,  &c.,  &c.  She  for  years  produced  Fifty  Millions  per 
annum ;  she  has  fallen  off  at  least  half ;  she  is  likely  soon  to 
fall  still  lower.  I  presume  the  child  is  born  who  will  live  to 
see  her  annual  product  fall  below  Ten  Millions. 

Yet  her  natural  wealth  will  still  be  great,  being  varied, 
vast,  and  indestructible.  I  group  it  under  these  heads  :  — 

I.  Soil.  —  Of  her  ninety  millions  of  acres,  I  should  deem 
not  over  twenty  millions  decidedly  arable  ;  but  these  are,  for 
the  most  part,  exceedingly  fertile.  I  judge  that  her  great 
valleys  were  once  arms  of  the  sea,  since  gradually  filled  up 
by  the  continual  abrasion  and  wearing  away  of  the  slopes  of 
her  omnipresent  mountains.  Many  of  them  have  now  from 
100  to  at  least  1,000  feet  in  depth  of  warm,  mellow  soil,  —  a 
marine  deposit  of  sand,  clay,  and  vegetable  mould,  in  nearly 
equal  proportions,  wherein  the  plough  very  rarely  disturbs  a 
stone.  I  never  saw  land  better  calculated  to  produce  large 
crops,  year  after  year,  with  a  moderate  outlay  of  labor.  The 
absence  of  rain  in  Summer  and  early  Autumn  keeps  down 
weeds ;  while  the  unclouded,  fervid  sun  hastens  growth  and 

25 


386  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

insures  perfection.  I  am  confident  that  Cotton,  and  even 
Cane,  might  be  grown  to  profit  throughout  the  southern  half 
of  the  State,  in  which  the  Fig,  the  Olive,  and  the  Apricot 
grow  luxuriantly  and  ripen  unfailingly. 

II.  Water.  —  Though  I  saw  large  fields  of  heavy  Indian 
Corn  which  grew  and  ripened  without  receiving  a  drop  of 
rain,  I  nevertheless  realize  and  admit  that  water  is  a  desirable 
facility  to  vegetable  growth  and  maturity.  And,  as  cultiva 
tion  is  here  mostly  confined  to  valleys  and  the  lower  slopes 
of  mountains,  water  is  abundantly  procurable.  Artesian  wells 
are  easily  dug ;  their  flow  is  apt  to  be  generous,  as  well  as 
constant ;  and  a  small  stream,  well  managed,  amply  irrigates 
a  very  large  field.  Trees  and  vines  root  deep  in  that  rich, 
facile  mould ;  the  grape  needs  a  very  little  water  for  two 
years,  and  none  thereafter ;  while  its  culture  requires  but  half 
the  work  needed  here  or  in  Europe,  because  our  frequent  rains 
evoke  innumerable  weeds.  I  estimate  that  a  ton  of  Grapes 
may  be  produced  in  California  with  half  the  labor  required 
to  grow  them  in  Italy;  and  that  Silk,  most  semi-tropical 
Fruits,  and  I  trust  Tea,  also,  may  be  produced  with  equal 
facility.  Wheat  and  other  small  grains  yield  largely  and 
surely.  I  saw  thousands  of  acres  that  had  been  two  months 
cut  and  shocked,  yet  still  awaited  the  coming  of  the  circulat 
ing  thresher;  other  fields  were  yet  uncut  (September  1), 
though  long  so  "dead-ripe  that  a  large  portion  of  the  grain 
must  be  shelled  out  and  lost  in  the  field,  even  under  the  most 
careful  handling.  I  saw  fifty  acres  of  choice  tree-fruits  — 
mainly  Peaches  and  Apples  —  in  a  single  patch ;  the  Peaches 
rotting  by  hundreds  of  bushels,  because  they  could  not  be 
gathered  and  marketed  so  fast  as  they  ripened.  I  saw  vast 
tracts  of  good  Mustard,  self-sown  and  growing  wild  from  year 
to  year,  though  apparently  as  good  an  article  as  ever  ripened. 
The  intense  drouth  of  her  long,  cloudless,  dewless  Summer 
produces  cracks  and  fissures  in  the  earth,  into  which  grains 
and  other  seeds  drop  when  dead-ripe  ;  rains  come  and  close 
the  fissures  in  November  and  later;  the  self-sown  seed 
germinates,  and  produces  a  "  volunteer  "  crop,  —  a  full  one  of 


THE  FUTURE   OF  CALIFORNIA.  387 

Mustard,  but  a  half  crop  of  Wheat,  &c.  I  saw,  at  the  Mission 
of  San  Jose,  giant  pear-trees,  planted  some  scores  of  years 
ago  by  the  Jesuits,  and  producing  largely,  but  of  indifferent 
fruit,  till  a  Yankee  acquired  and  grafted  them,  when  he  sold 
in  San  Francisco  their  product,  the  next  year  but  one,  so  as 
to  net  him  $  100  from  each  tree.  I  look  forward  to  a  day 
when  this  country's  supply  of  Kaw  Silk,  as  well  as  of  Eaisins 
and  other  dried  fruits,  will  reach  us  from  our  own  Pacific 
coast. 

The  rains-of  California  are  ample,  but  confined  to  Winter 
and  Spring.  In  time,  her  streams  will  be  largely  retained  in 
her  mountains  by  dams  and  reservoirs,  and,  instead  of  descend 
ing  in  floods  to  overwhelm  and  devastate,  will  be  gradually 
drawn  away  throughout  the  Summer  to  irrigate  and  refresh. 
For  a  while,  water  will  be  applied  too  profusely,  and  injury 
thus  be  done;  but  experience  will  correct  this  error;  and 
then  California's  valleys  and  lower  slopes  will  produce  more 
food  to  nourish  and  fruit  to  solace  the  heart  of  man  than  any 
other  Twenty  Millions  of  acres  on  earth. 

III.  Timber.  —  Most  of  her  highlands  are  valuable  for  tim 
ber  and  pasturage  only.  There  are  more  tons  of  valuable 
timber  in  the  Sierra  Nevada  than  in  our  whole  country  east 
of  the  Eocky  Mountains,  and  southward  of  the  latitude  of 
Chicago.  -  Eailroads  will  yet  render  much  of  it  commercially 
available,  and  incite  its  diffusion  to  every  country  and  island 
washed  by  the  great  ocean.  Its  value  will  be  found  to  sur 
pass  that  of  all  the  minerals  covered  by  it,  or  ever  exposed  to 
the  avaricious  gaze  of  man. 

The  Pacific  Railroads  —  for  there  must  soon  be  three  dis 
tinct  lines,  and  in  time  at  least  three  more  —  will  be  to  Cali 
fornia  what  the  Erie  Canal  is  to  New  York,  the  Mississippi  to 
the  great  valley.  It  is  barely  possible  to  over-estimate  their 
importance  and  value.  While  they  render  New  York  that 
focus  of  the  world's  commerce  which  London  has  so  long 
been,  they  must  build  up,  on  our  Pacific  coast,  a  traffic  with 
China,  Japan,  Australia,  such  as  Tyre  or  Carthage  never  con 
ceived.  California  has  hitherto  seemed,  even  to  her  own 


388  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

people,  on  one  side  of  the  earth ;  they  have  too  generally  felt 
as  strangers  and  sojourners,  and  talked  of  "  going  home,"  - 
that  is,  to  the  Atlantic  slope  ;  but  the  Pacific  Railroads,  bring 
ing  them  within  a  week's  journey  of  New  England,  and  plac 
ing  them  in  daily  mail  communication  with  the  friends  of 
their  childhood,  will  make  thousands  contented  with  their 
lot,  and,  after  a  good  visit  to  the  old,  familiar  firesides,  they 
will  return,  contented  to  end  their  days  on  the  Pacific  slope, 
and  will  draw  their  younger  brothers  and  icousins  after  them. 
I  predict  that  California  will  have  Three  Millions  of  people 
in  1900,  and  Oregon  at  least  One  Million. 

I  close  with  a  mere  glance  at  San  Francisco ;  because  her 
age  has  nearly  doubled  since  I  saw  her,  and  her  population, 
wealth,  and  business,  as  well.  At  the  mouth  of  the  only  con 
siderable  river  that  enters  the  Pacific  from  our  continent,  — 
the  Columbia  and  the  Youkon  excepted,  —  with  a  fair  en 
trance,  and  an  ample,  safe  harbor,  I  judge  that  the  Pacific 
Eailroad  fixes  and  assures  her  destiny  as  the  second  city  of 
America,  —  the  emporium  wherein  the  farthest  East  will  ex 
change  its  products  with  the  remotest  West.  I  dislike  her 
chilly  August  fogs  and  winds,  her  blowing,  drifting  sands ;  I 
might  wish  her  relieved  of  the  giant  sand-bank  which  cen 
turies  have  piled  up  between  her  and  the  Pacific ;  but  then 
her  Western  gales  would  be  fiercer  and  sharper  than  now ;  so 
it  is  best  to  leave  her  as  she  is.  Since  twenty  years  have 
raised  her  from  a  naked  beach  to  a  city  of  100,000  souls,  who 
can  doubt  that  eighty  more  will  see  these  swelled  to,  at  least, 
One  Million  ?  May  Intelligence  and  Virtue  keep  even  step 
with  her  material  progress  !  may  the  great-grandchildren  of 
her  adventurous  pioneers  rejoice  in  the  knowledge  that  her 
stormy,  irregular  youth  has  given  place  to  a  sober,  respected, 
beneficent  maturity !  may  her  influence  on  the  side  of  Free 
dom,  Knowledge,  Righteousness,  be  evermore  greatly  felt  and 
greatly  blest  throughout  the  awaking,  wondering,  plastic 
Western  world ! 


XLVIII. 

THE  PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION  OF  1860. 

THE  events  of  1858-59,  with  certain  demonstrations 
against  Senator  Douglas  and  his  doctrine  of  "  Squatter 
Sovereignty,"  by  nearly  all  his  Democratic  brethren  in  the 
Senate,  early  in  the  session  of  1859-60,  plainly  portended  a 
disruption  of  the  dominant  party ;  creating  a  strong  probability 
that  the  Kepublicans  might  choose  the  next  President.  I 
had  already,  for  months,  contemplated  that  contingency,  and 
endeavored  to  fix  on  the  proper  candidate  for  President,  in 
view  of  its  probable  occurrence. 

My  choice  was  Edward  Bates,  of  St.  Louis.  He  had  been 
sole  Eepresentative  of  Missouri  in  Congress  fully  thirty  years 
before,  when  he  had  heartily  supported  the  administration  of 
John  Quinoy  Adams.  He  had  since  been  mainly  in  retire 
ment,  save  that  he  had  presided  with  eminent  ability  over 
the  Eiver  and  Harbor  Convention  held  at  Chicago  in  1847, 
and  had  held  a  local  judgeship.  Born  in  Virginia,  a  life-long 
slaveholder,  in  politics  a  Whig,  he  was  thoroughly  conserva 
tive,  and  so  held  fast  to  the  doctrine  of  our  Eevolutionary 
sages,  that  Slavery  was  an  evil  to  be  restricted,  not  a  good  to 
be  diffused.  This  conviction  made  him  essentially  a  Eepub- 
lican;  while  I  believed  that  he  could  poll  votes  in  every 
Slave  State,  and,  if  elected,  rally  all  that  was  left  of  the  Whig 
party  therein  to  resist  Secession  and  Eebellion.  If  not  the 
only  Eepublican  whose  election  would  not  suffice  as  a  pretext 
for  civil  war,  he  seemed  to  me  that  one  most  likely  to  repress 
the  threatened  insurrection,  or,  at  the  worst,  to  crush  it.  I 
did  not  hesitate  to  avow  my  preference,  though  I  may  have 
withheld  some  of  my  reasons  for  it. 


390  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Many  Eepublicans  dissented  from  it  most  decidedly ;  one 
of  them  said  to  me,  "  Let  us  have  a  candidate,  this  time,  that 
represents  our  most  advanced  convictions." 

"  My  friend,"  I  inquired,  "  suppose  each  Eepublican  voter 
in  our  State  were  to  receive,  to-morrow,  a  letter,  advising  him 
that  he  (the  said  voter)  had  just  lost  his  brother,  for  some 
years  settled  in  the  South,  who  had  left  him  a  plantation  and 
half  a  dozen  slaves,  —  how  many  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  would,  in  response,  declare  and  set  those  slaves 
free  ? "  "I  don't  think  I  could  stand  that  test  myself ! "  was 
his  prompt  rejoinder.  "  Then,"  I  resumed,  "  it  is  not  yet 
time  to  nominate  as  you  propose." 

The  Eepublican  National  Convention  was  called  to  meet  at 
Chicago,  May  16,  1860,  and  I  attended  it,  having  been  re 
quested  by  the  Eepublicans  of  Oregon  to  act  as  one  of  their 
delegates  therein.  Governor  Seward  was  the  most  prominent 
candidate  for  the  Presidential  nomination,  warmly  backed  by 
the  delegations  from  New  York,  Michigan,  and  several  other 
States,  including  most  of  those  from  Massachusetts.  I  was 
somewhat  surprised  to  meet  there  quite  a  number  who,  in 
conversations  with  me  and  others,  had  unhesitatingly  pro 
nounced  his  nomination  unadvisable,  and  likely  to  prove  dis 
astrous,  now  on  hand  to  urge  it.  I  strongly  felt  that  they 
had  been  right  before,  and  were  wrong  now ;  and  I  did  what 
I  could  to  counteract  their  efforts ;  visiting,  to  this  end,  and 
briefly  addressing,  the  delegations  from  several  States.  I  did 
much  less  than  w^as  popularly  supposed ;  being  kept  busy  for 
ten  or  twelve  of  the  most  critical  hours  just  preceding  the 
ballotings  in  the  committee  of  one  delegate  from  each  State 
represented  that  framed  and  reported  the  platform.  An  effort 
to  concentrate,  prior  to  the  balloting,  all  the  anti-Seward  votes 
on  one  candidate,  proved  unsuccessful;  and  the  probability 
of  Seward's  success  seemed  thereafter  so  decided,  that  one  of 
his  leading  supporters  urged  me,  just  before  we  began  to  bal 
lot,  to  name  the  man  whose  nomination-JbiLYice-President 
would  be  most  effective  in  reconciling  those  with__whom  I 
acted  to  the  supporToT'Goveruor  Seward.  I  advised,  through 


THE  PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION  OF  1860.  391 

him,  the  Seward  men  to  make  the  whole  ticket  satisfactory  to 
themselves.  We  soon  proceeded  to  vote  for  a  candidate  for 
President,  with  the  following  result :  — 

1st  ballot.          2d  ballot.          Sd  ballot. 

William  H.  Seward,  of  New  York,      .     .     .     .  173£  184^             180 

Abraham  Lincoln,  of  Illinois, 102  181 

Simon  Cameron  of  Pennsylvania, 50£ 

Salmon  P.  Chase,  of  Ohio, 49  42£ 

Edward  Bates,  of  Missouri, 48  35 

William  L.  Day  ton,  of  New  Jersey,     ....     14  10 

John  McLean,  of  Ohio, 12  8 

Jacob  Collamer,  of  Vermont, 10 


Mr.  Lincoln  having  very  nearly  votes  enough  to  nominate 
him  on  the  third  ballot,  others  were  rapidly  transferred  to 
him,  until  he  had  354  out  of  466  in  all,  and  his  nomination 
was  declared.  On  motion  of  William  M.  Evarts,  on  the  part 
of  New  York,  seconded  by  John  A.  Andrew  on  behalf  of 
Massachusetts,  the  nomination  was  then  made  unanimous. 
On  the  first  ballot  for  Vice-President,  Hannibal  Hamlin,  of 
Maine,  received  194  votes,  which  the  next  ballot  swelled  to 
367  against  99,  —  when  he,  too,  was  unanimously  nominated ; 
and  the  Convention  adjourned  with  nine  hearty  cheers  for 
the  ticket. 

The  "  Constitutional  Union  "  (late  "  American  " )  party,  met 
by  delegates  three  days  later  in  Baltimore,  declared  its  plat 
form  to  be  "  the  Constitution  of  the  country,  the  Union  of 
the  States,  and  the  enforcement  of  the  Laws,"  and  nominated 
thereon  John  Bell,  of  Tennessee,  for  President,  and  Edward 
Everett,  of  Massachusetts,  for  Vice-President. 

The  Democratic  National  Convention*  had  met" onginilly 
at  Charleston,  South  Carolina ;  had  quarrelled  over  a  platform 
for  a  week  oY  more ;  and  had  finally  been  disrupted^  the 
withdrawal  of  a  majority  of  the  delegates  from  Slave  States, 
because  of  the  adoption  (by  a  vote  of  165  to  ,138)  of  a  plat 
form  which  was  held  to  favor,  or  at  least  not  explicitly  to 
condemn,  Senator  Douglas's  "  Squatter-Sovereignty "  dogma. 

*  April  23. 


392  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

After  taking  57  ballots  for  President,  whereon  Mr.  Douglas 
had  a  decided  majority  of  all  the  votes  cast  on  every  ballot, 
and  a  majority  of  a  full  Convention,  that  body,  by  a  vote  of 
195  to  55,  adjourned*  to  reassemble  at  Baltimore,  June  18; 
at  which  time  (the  places  of  most  of  the  seceders  having 
meantime  been  filled)  Mr.  Douglas  received  on  the  first  ballot 
173 1,  and  on  the  second  181 J  votes,  which  was  less  than 
two-thirds  of  a  full  Convention  (303).  He  was  thereupon, 
on  motion  of  Sanford  E.  Church,  of  New  York,  declared  the 
nominee. 

Hon.  Benjamin  Fitzpatrick,  of  Alabama,  was  unanimously 
nominated  for  Vice-President ;  but  he  declined,  and  Hon. 
Herschel  V.  Johnson,  of  Georgia,  was  put  up  in  his  stead. 

The  bolters  at  Charleston  met  in  Baltimore  on  the  llth 
of  June,  but  adjourned  to  the  25th ;  at  which  time,  Hon.  John 
C.  Breckinridge,  of  Kentucky  (then  Vice-President),  was 
unanimously  nominated  for  President,  with  General  Joseph 
Lane,  of  Oregon,  for  Vice-President. 

The  quadrangular  contest  thus  inaugurated  has  had  no 
parallel  but  a  very  imperfect  one  in  1824.  It  seems  clear 
that  the  bolting  Democratic  ticket  was  intended  to  render 
the  success  of  the  Piepublicans  inevitable ;  and  the  probability 
of  that  success  was  openly  exulted  over  in  4th  of  July  toasts 
at  various  celebrations  in  South  Carolina,  where  no  other  can 
didate  than  Breckinridge  had  even  a 'nominal  support.  Yet 
in  New  York  the  supporters  of  Douglas,  of  Bell,  and  of  Breck 
inridge  united  on  a  common  ticket,  which  was  defeated,  but 
only  after  a  most  determined  canvass.  In  other  States,  the 
"  fusion  "  was  incomplete  or  non-existent,  rendering  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  success  a  foregone  conclusion.  Mr.  Douglas,  alone 
among  the  Presidential  candidates,  took  the  stump,  and  spoke 
with  vigor  and  energy  in  several  States,  but  to  little  purpose. 
The  popular  vote  in  the  Free  States  was  mainly  divided 
between  Lincoln  and  Douglas ;  in  the  Slave  States,  between 
Breckinridge  and  Bell :  the  totals  in  either  section  being,  as 
nearly  as  they  can  be  apportioned,  as  follows :  — 

*  May  3. 


TEE  PRESIDENTIAL  ELECTION  OF  1860.  393 

Lincoln.  Douglas.  Breckinridge.  BeU. 

Free  States, 1,831,180         1,128,049         279,211         130,151 

Slave  States, 26,430  163,525         570,871         515,973 

Total,     .     .     .  1,857,610         1,291,574        850,082         646,124 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  180  electoral  votes  to  123  for  all  others ; 
he  having  the  full  vote  of  all  the  Free  States  but  New  Jersey, 
which  gave  him  4.  Mr.  Douglas  had  barely  3  in  New  Jer 
sey,  with  the  9  of  Missouri,  — 12  in  all,  —  while  Breckinridge, 
with  a  much  smaller  popular  vote,  had  72  electors;  barely 
missing  those  of  Virginia,  also  Kentucky  and  Tennessee, 
making  39  in  all. 

Mr.  Lincoln's  popular  and  electoral  vote  were  each  a 
little  larger  than  those  of  Mr.  Buchanan  in  1856 ;  but,  prac 
tically,  the  one  result  had  strong  points  of  resemblance  to  the 
other.  In  the  former,  a  united  South  triumphed  over  a 
divided  North ;  in  the  latter,  a  United  North  succeeded  over 
a  divided  South.  But  the  division  affected  only  the  Presi 
dency;  the  anti-Eepublicans  still  held  the  Supreme  Court, 
with  the  Senate,  and  were  morally  certain  of  a  large  majority 
also  in  the  new  House  of  Eepresentatives,  whereof  two  thirds 
of  the  members  were  chosen  with  or  before  the  Presidential 
Electors. 

Thus  stood  the  country  on  the  day  after  that  which  re 
corded  the  popular  verdict  for  Lincoln  and  Hamlin. 

It  is  true  that  the  moral  weight  of  that  verdict  was  dimin 
ished  by  the  consideration  that  it  was  pronounced  by  barely 
two  fifths  of  the  legal  voters.  Antagonist  on  other  points  as 
the  defeated  factions  were,  it  was  notorious  that  they  were  a 
unit  in  opposition  to  the  cardinal  Republican  principle  of  No 
Extension  of  Slavery,  which,  by  acting  in  concert,  they  could 
at  any  time  arrest  and  defeat.  Yet  the  election  of  Lincoln, 
by  placing  the  Executive  patronage  of  the  Government  in  the 
hands  of  a  Republican,  had  done  much  toward  the  develop 
ment  throughout  the  South  of  that  latent  anti-Slavery  senti 
ment  which  her  aristocracy  abhorred  and  dreaded.  In  that 
election,  therefore,  many  slaveholders  saw  foreshadowed  the 
doom  of  their  cherished  "institution." 


XLIX. 

SECESSION,  — HOW    CONFRONTED. 

THE  popular  vote  *  in  each  State  for  Presidential  Electors 
having  rendered  inevitable  the  success  of  Lincoln  and 
Hamlin,  the  result  —  immediately  ascertained  and  dissemi 
nated  by  means  of  the  telegraph  —  was  nowhere  received  with 
more  general  expressions  of  satisfaction  than  in  South  Caro 
lina,  whose  ruling  caste  had,  months  before,  but  especially  on 
the  preceding  4th  of  July,  indicated  their  wish  and  hope  that 
the  election  would  have  this  issue.  Indeed,  we  Eepublicans 
had  been  fully  aware,  throughout  the  canvass,  that  the  divis 
ion  of  the  Democratic  party  effected  at  the  Charleston  Con 
vention  was  designed  to  assure  our  success,  —  not  as  an  end, 
but  as  a  means,  —  and  that  those  who  supported  Breckinridge, 
while  they  would  have  regarded  his  election  with  compla 
cency,  were  quite  as  well  satisfied  with  that  of  Lincoln.  Much 
as  they  disliked  —  nay,  detested  —  the  "Black  Eepublicans," 
they  regarded  Senator  Douglas  and  his  "Squatter  Sover 
eignty  "  with  an  intenser  aversion,  and  were  bent  on  their 
absolute  discomfiture  at  all  hazards. 

All  revolutionary  movements  derive  their  momentum  from 
diverse  sources,  and  are  impelled  by  very  different  agencies. 
Of  the  four  and  a  half  millions  of  voters  for  President  in 
1860,  it  is  quite  safe  to  say  that  all  who  desired  Disunion 
were  included  within  the  850,000  f  who  voted  for  Breckin- 

*  November  6,  1860. 

t  As  South  Carolina  then  chose  her  electors  by  her  Legislature,  her  people 
do  not  count  in  this  aggregate,  which  they  would  probably  have  swelled  to 
about  900,000. 


SECESSION.  —  HO  W  CONFRONTED.  395 

ridge ;  "but  even  this  fraction  should,  in  justice,  be  divided 
into  classes,  as  follows :  — 

I.  The  Disunionists,  pure  and  simple,  who,  believing  Slavery 
the  only  natural  and  stable  basis  of  social  order,  and  noting 
the  steady  advance  of  the  Free  States  in  relative  wealth, 
population,  and  power,  deemed  the  Secession  and  Confedera 
tion  of  the  Slaveholding  States  the  only  course  consistent 
with  their  interests  or  their  safety.     I  doubt  whether  this 
class  numbered  half  a  million  of  the  fifteen  hundred  thousand 
legal  voters  residing  in  the  Slave  States,  while  it  could  count 
no  open  adherents  in  the  Free  States. 

II.  Those  who,  while  they  perceived  neither  safety  nor 
sense  in  Secession,  did  not  choose  to  be  stigmatized  as  Abo 
litionists  nor  hooted  as  cowards,  but  preferred  the  remote,  con 
tingent  perils  even  of  civil  war  to  the  imminent  certainty  of 
persecution  and  social  outlawry,  if  they  should  be  pointed  out 
as  lacking  the  courage  or  the  will  to  risk  all,  dare  all,  in  de 
fence  of  "  Southern  rights." 

III.  Those  who,  while  at  heart  hostile  to  Disunion,  —  deem 
ing  it  no  remedy  for  existing  ills,  while  it  opened  a  new  vista 
of  untold,  awful  calamities, — yet  regarded  the  menace  of 
Secession   with   complacency,   as   certain    to   frighten   "the 
North  "  into  any  and  every  required  concession  and  retraction 
to  avert  the  threatened  disruption. 

It  was  this  third  class  —  I  judge  more  numerous  than, 
while  superior  in  wealth  and  social  consideration  to,  the  first 
and  second  combined  —  that  I  deemed  it  our  first  duty  to 
resist  and  baffle. 

I  had  for  forty  years  been  listening,  with  steadily  diminish 
ing  patience,  to  Southern  threats  of  Disunion.  Whatever  an 
awakened  conscience,  or  an  enlightened  apprehension  of  Na 
tional  interest,  commended  to  a  majority  of  the  North  as  just 
and  politic,  was  — if  not  equally  acceptable  at  the  South 
—  apt  to  be  met  by  the  bravado,  "  Do  what  you  propose,  and 
we  will  dissolve  the  Union  ! "  I  had  become  weary  of  this, 
and  desirous  of  ending  it.  In  my  cherished  conception,  the 
Union  was  no  boon  conferred  on  the  North  by  the  South,  but 


396  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

a  voluntary  partnership,  at  least  as  advantageous  to  the  latter 
as  to  the  former.  I  desired  that  the  South  should  be  made 
to  comprehend  and  respect  this  truth.  I  wished  her  to  realize 
that  the  North  could  do  without  the  South  quite  as  well  as 
the  South  could  do  without  the  North. 

For  the  first  breath  of  Disunion  from  the  South  fanned  into 
vigorous  life  the  old  spirit  of  compromise  and  cringing  at  the 
North.  "  What  will  you  do  to  save  the  Union  ? "  was  asked 
of  us  Kepublicans,  as  if  we  had  committed  some  enormity  in 
voting  for  and  electing  Lincoln,  which  we  must  now  atone  by 
proffering  concessions  and  disclaimers  to  the  justly  alarmed 
and  irritated  South. 

At  once,  the  attitude  of  the  North  became  alarmed,  depre 
catory,  self-abasing.  Every  local  election  held  during  the  two 
months  succeeding  our  National  triumph  showed  great  "  Con 
servative  "  gains.  Conspicuous  Abolitionists  were  denied  the 
use  of  public  halls,  or  hooted  down  if  they  attempted  to  speak. 
Influential  citizens,  through  meetings  and  letters,  denounced 
the  madness  of  "  fanaticism,"  and  implored  the  South  to  stay 
her  avenging  arm  until  the  North  could  have  time  to  purge 
herself  from  complicity  with  "  fanatics,"  and  demonstrate  her 
fraternal  sympathy  with  her  Southern  sister,  —  that  is,  attest 
her  unshaken  loyalty  to  the  Slave  Power.  An  eminent 
Southern  Conservative  (John  J.  Crittenden)  having  proposed, 
as  a  new  Union-saving  compromise,  the  running  of  the  line 
of  36  degrees  30  minutes  North  latitude  through  our  new 
territories  to  the  Pacific,  and  the  positive  allotment  and 
guaranty  of  all  South  of  that  line  to  Slavery  forever,  the  sug 
gestion  was  widely  grasped  as  an  olive-branch,  —  even  the 
veteran  Thurlow  Weed  commending  the  proposal  to  popular 
favor  and  acceptance  as  fair  and  reasonable.  The  Eepublican 
party  —  which  had  been  called  into  existence  by  the  opening 
of  free  soil  to  Slavery  —  seemed  in  positive  danger  of  signaliz 
ing  its  advent  to  power  by  giving  a  direct  assent  to  the  prac 
tical  extension  of  Slavery  over  a  region  far  larger  and  more 
important  than  that  theoretically  surrendered  by  the  Kansas- 
Nebraska  bill.  In  fact,  the  attitude  of  the  North,  during  the 


SECESSION,  — HOW  CONFRONTED.  397 

two  last  months  of  1860,  was  foreshadowed  in  four  lines  of 
Collins's  Ode  to  the  Passions  :  — 

"  First,  Fear  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid  ; 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 
E'en  at  the  sound  himself  had  made." 

And  the  danger  was  imminent  that,  if  a  popular  vote  could 
have  been  had  (as  was  proposed)  on  the  Crittenden  Com 
promise,  it  would  have  prevailed  by  an  overwhelming  ma 
jority.  Very  few  Eepublicans  would  have  voted  for  it ;  but 
very  many  would  have  refrained  from  voting  at  all ;  while 
their  adversaries  would  have  brought  their  every  man  to  the 
polls  in  its  support,  and  carried  it  by  hundreds  of  thousands. 

My  own  controlling  conviction  from  first  to  last  was, — 
There  must,  at  all  events,  be  no  concession  to  Slavery.  Dis 
union,  should  it  befall,  may  be  calamity ;  but  complicity  in 
Slavery  extension  is  guilt,  which  the  Eepublicans  must  in  no 
case  incur.  It  had  for  an  age  been  the  study  of  the  slave- 
holding  politicians  to  make  us  of  the  North  partners  with 
them  in  the  maintenance,  diffusion,  and  profit  or  loss  of  their 
industrial  system.  "  Slavery  is  quite  as  much  your  affair  as 
ours,"  they  were  accustomed  to  say  in  substance  :  "  we  own 
and  work  the  negroes  ;  you  buy  the  cotton  and  sugar  pro 
duced  by  their  labor,  and  sell  us  in  return  nearly  all  we 
and  they  eat,  drink,  and  wear.  If  they  run  away,  you  help 
catch  and  return  them :  now  set  us  off  a  few  hundred  thou 
sand  miles  more  of  territory  whereon  to  work  them,  and  help 
us  to  acquire  Cuba,  Mexico,  &c.,  as  we  shall  say  we  need 
them,  and  we  will  largely  extend  our  operations,  to  our 
mutual  benefit."  It  was  this  extension  that  I  was  resolved  at 
all  hazards  to  defeat. 

But  how  ? 

Good  and  true  men  met  the  Disunionists  (whether  earnest 
or  affected)  in  this  square,  manly  way  :  "  You  must  obey  the 
laws.  The  Union  will  not  be  tamely  surrendered,  and  cannot 
be  dissolved  by  force.  Whoever  shall  attempt  thus  to  dis 
solve  it  will  have  reason  to  repent  of  his  temerity.  Behave 
yourselves,  or  you  will  rue  your  turbulence  ! " 


398  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

To  me,  as  to  some  others,  a  different  course  seemed  advisa 
ble.  We  said  in  substance  :  "  You  Disunionists  claim  to  be 
the  Southern  people,  and  rest  your  case  on  the  vital  principle 
proclaimed  in  our  fathers'  immortal  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence,  —  <  Governments  derive  their  just  power  from  the  con 
sent  of  the  governed.'  We  admit  th e  principle, — nay,  we  affirm, 
we  glory  in  it ;  but  your  case  is  not  within  it.  You  are  not 
the  Southern  people ;  you  are  not  even  a  majority  of  the 
Southern  Whites  ;  you  are  a  violent,  unscrupulous,  desperate 
minority,  who  have  conspired  to  clutch  power  and  wield  it 
for  ends  which  the  overawed,  gagged,  paralyzed  majority  at 
heart  condemn.  Secure  us  a  fair  opportunity  to  state  our 
side  of  the  case,  and  to  argue  the  points  at  issue  before  your 
people,  and  we  will  abide  their  decision.  We  disclaim  a 
union  of  force,  —  a  union  held  together  by  bayonets ;  let  us 
be  fairly  heard  ;  and,  if  your  people  decide  that  they  choose 
to  break  away  from  us,  we  will  interpose  no  obstacle  to  their 
peaceful  withdrawal  from  the  Union." 

Whether  this  was,  or  was  not,  in  the  abstract,  sound  doc 
trine,  it  is  clear  that  those  who  uttered  it  exposed  themselves 
to  ready  misapprehension  and  grave  obloquy,  which  were 
counterbalanced  by  no  advantage  or  profit  to  themselves. 
Their  consolation  was  that  they  had  done  something  toward 
arresting  the  spring- tide  of  Northern  servility  that  set  strongly 
in  favor  of  "  conciliation  "  through  the  adoption  of  the  Crit- 
tenden  Compromise. 

They  were  right  at  least  in  their  fundamental  assumption 
of  fact.  The  South  was  not  for  Secession.  Though  its  par 
tisans  had  previously  made  skilful  use  of  the  machinery  of 
the  Democratic  party  to  secure  Governors,  Legislatures,  &c. 
in  their  interest,  and  the  Federal  officers — appointed  by 
Pierce  and  Buchanan  while  Jefferson  Davis,  Jacob  Thomp- 
sony  John  B.  Floyd,  Howell  Cobb,  John  Slidell,  &c.,  were 
their  trusted  advisers  —  were  nearly  all  implicated  in  their 
conspiracy,  the  Disunionists,  wholly  unresisted  by  President 
Buchanan,  were  enabled,  by  their  utmost  efforts,  to  alienate 
but  a  minority  of  the  Southern  States  or  People  from  the 


SECESSION,  — HOW  CONFRONTED.  399 

Federal  Union.  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  Alabama,  Missis 
sippi,  Louisiana,  Florida,  and  Texas  —  seven  States  in  all, 
entitled  to  but  twenty-eight  representatives  in  Congress  — 
were  claimed  as  having  seceded,  up  to  the  hour  wherein  War 
was  formally  inaugurated  by  an  order  from  the  Confederate 
War  Department  to  open  fire  upon  the  Federal  fortress  named 
Sumter,  in  Charleston  harbor.  In  no  one  of  these  States  but 
Texas  had  the  ordinance  of  Secession  been  submitted  to,  and 
ratified  by,  a  direct  popular  vote.  The  eight  other  Slave 
States,  which  had  double  their  free  population  and  double 
their  representation  in  Congress,  had  not  merely  declined  to 
secede,  —  Virginia,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  Missouri,  had 
given  such  majorities  against  it  as  they  never  gave  before ; 
North  Carolina  and  Arkansas  had  expressly  voted  it  down ; 
while  Maryland  and  Delaware  refused  even  to  take  the  mat 
ter  into  consideration.  In  fact,  the  people  of  the  South,  like 
those  of  the  North,  were  as  yet  unripe  for  Disunion,  and 
shuddered  at  the  prospect  of  civil  war.  The  bombardment 
of  Sumter,  which  summoned  the  Nation  to  arms,  was  impelled 
by  a  consciousness  that  the  mushroom  Confederacy  would 
otherwise  collapse  and  disappear.  Said  Jeremiah  Clemens, 
formerly  United  States  Senator  from  Alabama,  at  a  Union 
meeting  at  Hunts ville,  March  13,  1864  :  — 

"  1  wish  to  state  a  fact  in  relation  to  the  commencement  of  this 
war.  Some  time  after  the  ordinance  of  Secession  was  passed  I 
was  in  Montgomery,  and  called  on  President  Davis,  who  was  in 
that  city.  Davis,  Memminger,  the  Secretary  of  War  [Leroy  Pope 
Walker],  Gilchrist,  the  member  from  Lowndes  County,  and  several 
others,  were  present.  As  I  entered,  the  conversation  ceased. 
They  were  evidently  discussing  the  propriety  of  firing  on  Fort 
Sumter.  Two  or  three  of  them  withdrew  to  a  corner  of  the  room  ; 
and  I  heard  Gilchrist  say  to  the  Secretary  of  War :  <  It  MUST  be 
done.  Delay  two  months,  and  Alabama  stays  in  the  Union.  You 
must  sprinkle  blood  in  the  faces  of  the  people." 

So  said,  so  done,  —  except  that  the  "sprinkle"  swelled  into 
a  cascade,  the  cascade  into  a  river,  which  inundated  and  red 
dened  the  whole  breadth  of  our  country. 


L. 

OUR  CIVIL  WAR, —  ACTUAL  AND  POSSIBLE. 

HOSTILITIES  on  the  part  of  the  Confederacy  had  been 
inaugurated  weeks  before  Mr.  Lincoln's  accession  to 
the  Presidency.  The  Federal  forts,  arsenals,  armories,  sub- 
treasuries,  &c.,  &c.,  located  in  the  seceding  States,  had,  in 
good  part,  thus  changed  hands,  —  often  with  the  hearty  as 
sent  and  cooperation  of  their  custodians, — -always  without 
serious  resistance  offered  by  them  or  commanded  from  Wash 
ington.  Fort  Sumter,  Key  West,  and  Fort  Pickens  (at  Pen- 
sacola)  were  all  that  held  out  for  the  LTnion.  General 
Twiggs's  surrender*  of  the  greater  part  of  our  little  Army, 
then  posted  along  the  exposed  frontiers  of  Texas,  with  all 
the  forts,  arms,  munitions,  stores,  &c.,  occurred  two  weeks  be 
fore  the  close  of  Mr.  Buchanan's  term.  Still,  the  fact  that 
war  existed,  or  even  that  it  was  inevitable,  was  not  generally 
realized  in  the  Free  States,  till  the  telegraph  flashed  far  and 
wide  the  startling  news  that  fire  had  been  opened  f  on  Fort 
Sumter  from  the  Eebel  forts  and  batteries  whereby  it  was 
half  encircled,  —  following  this,  next  day,  with  the  tidings 
that  the  feebly  manned  and  nearly  foodless  fort  had  surren 
dered.  Hereupon,  Virginia  was  promptly  plunged  by  her 
Convention  into  the  widening  vortex  of  Secession ;  and  was 
soon  followed  by  Arkansas,  $  North  Carolina,  §  and  ultimately 
by  Tennessee.  || 

Meantime,  President  Lincoln,  directly  on  hearing  of  the 
fall  of  Sumter,  had  summoned  the  new  Congress  to  meet  in 

*  February  18,  1861.  J  May  6,  1861.  ||  June  8,  1861. 

t   April  12,  1861.  §  May  20,  1861. 


OUR  CIVIL  WAR,  — ACTUAL  AND  POSSIBLE.         401 

extraordinary  session  on  the  4th  of  July  ensuing,  and  had 
called  on  the  Governors  of  the  presumptively  loyal  States  for 
their  respective  quotas  of  a  volunteer  force  of  75,000  men  to 
defend  the  capital  and  public  property  of  the  Union.  The 
Governors,  not  only  of  Virginia  (which  was  then  on  the  point, 
if  not  in  the  act,  of  seceding),  but  of  North  Carolina,  Tennes 
see,  Missouri,  Kentucky,  and  even  Delaware,  responded  only 
with  "railing  accusations,"  implying  amazement  that  any 
President  should  ask  or  expect  their  help  in  the  nefarious 
work  of  "  coercion."  From  the  Governors  of  the  Free  States 
(nearly  or  quite  all  Eepublicans)  very  different  responses  were 
received,  swiftly  followed  by  the  required  volunteers.  One 
of  the  first  regiments  on  foot  was  from  Massachusetts,  and 
was  fiercely  assailed*  on  its  passage  through  Baltimore  by  a 
vast  pro- Slavery  mob,  whereby  three  of  its  men  were  slain 
and  eight  seriously  wounded.  The  residue  made  their  way 
through  the  city,  and  proceeded  to  Washington ;  but  a  Penn 
sylvania  regiment,  just  behind  it,  was  roughly  handled  by  the 
mob,  and  constrained  to  take"  the  back  track  to  Philadelphia. 
Baltimore  thereupon  ranged  herself  on  the  side  of  Secession, 
stopping  the  trains  and  cutting  the  wires  that  connected 
Washington  with  the  still  loyal  States ;  the  Federal  Arsenal 
at  Harper's  Ferry,  being  menaced,  was  fired  and  abandoned ; 
the  Navy  Yard  at  Norfolk  was  culpably  deserted,  leaving  two 
thousand  cannon  and  large  supplies  of  munitions  to  the  ex 
ulting  Confederates  ;  a  Confederate  camp  was  established  near 
St.  Louis,  under  the  auspices  of  Governor  Jackson,  and  men 
openly  enlisted  and  drilled  there  for  the  work  in  prospect ; 
the  South  was  closed  to  Northern  travel  and  commerce,  and 
everything  portended  a  formidable,  bloody,  devastating  war. 

Yet  President  Lincoln  persisted  in  what  seems  to  me  his 
second  grave  mistake,  —  that  of  underestimating  the  spirit 
arid  power  of  the  Rebellion.  He  had  called  for  but  75,000 
men  when  apprised  that  Fort  Sumter  had  fallen ;  he  called 
for  no  more  when  assured  that  Virginia  and  North  Carolina 
had  been  swept  into  the  vortex  of  Secession  by  that  open 

*  April  19,  1861. 
26 


402  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

defiance  of  the  National  authority  and  assault  on  the  National 
integrity;  that  Arkansas  and  Tennessee  were  on  the  point 
of  following  their  bad  example ;  and  that  even  Maryland  and 
Missouri  were,  at  least  for  the  moment,  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  fully  shared  the  animus  and  sympathized  with  the  aims 
of  the  Disunionists.  It  was  now  plain  that  the  Slave  Power 
was  the  Nation's  assailant,  and  that  its  motto  was,  "  War  to 
the  knife  ! "  I  think  the  President  should  have  changed  his 
tactics  in  view  of  the  added  gravity  of  the  public  danger.  I 
think  he  should  have  invited  the  people  to  assemble  en  a  des 
ignated  early  day  in  their  several  wards  and  townships,  then 
and  there  to  solemnly  swear  to  uphold  the  Government  and 
Union,  and  to  enroll  themselves  as  volunteers  for  the  war, 
subject  to  be  called  out  at  his  discretion.  Each  man's  age,  as 
well  as  name,  should  have  been  recorded ;  and  then  he  should 
have  called  them  out  in  classes  as  they  should.be  wanted, — 
say,  first,  those  of  20  to  25  years  old ;  secondly,  those  between 
25  and  30 ;  and  so  on.  I  judge  that  not  less  than  One  Mil 
lion  able-bodied  men  would  have  thus  enrolled  themselves ; 
that  the  first  two  calls  would  have  provided  a  force  of  not 
less  than  two  hundred  thousand  men ;  and  that  subsequent 
calls,  though  less  productive,  would  have  supplied  all  the  men 
from  time  to  time  required,  without  cost  and  without  material 
delay. 

The  Confederate  Congress  had  met  at  Montgomery,  Ala 
bama,  held  a  brief  session,  and  adjourned  to  reconvene  at 
Eichmond  on  the  4th  of  July.  I  hold  that  it  should  not 
have  been  allowed  so  to  meet,  but  that  a  Union  army,  One 
Hundred  Thousand  strong,  should  have  occupied  that  city 
early  in  June,  —  certainly  before  the  close  of  that  month. 
Eichmond  was  not  yet  fortified;  it  was  accessible  by  land 
and  by  water ;  we  firmly  held  Fortress  Monroe ;  the  desig 
nated  capital  of  the  Confederacy  should  never  have  received 
its  Congress,  but  should  have  witnessed  such  a  celebration  of 
the  anniversary  of  American  Independence  as  had  never  yet 
thrilled  its  heart.  The  war-cry,  "Forward  to  Eichmond!" 
did  not  originate  with  me ;  but  it  is  just  what  should  have 


OUR   CIVIL   WAR,  — ACTUAL  AND.  POSSIBLE         403 

been  uttered,  and  the  words  should  have  been  translated  into 

deeds. 

Instead  of  energy,  vigor,  promptness,  daring,  decision,  we 
had  in  our  councils  weakness,  irresolution,  hesitation,  delay ; 
and,  when  at  last  our  hastily  collected  forces,  after  being  de 
moralized  by  weeks  of  idleness  and  dissipation,  were  sent 
forward,  they  advanced  on  separate  lines,  under  different  com 
manders;  thus  enabling  the  enemy  to  concentrate  all  his 
forces  in  Virginia  against  a  single  corps  of  ours,  defeating  and 
stampeding  it  at  Bull  Eun,  while  other  Union  volunteers, 
aggregating  nearly  twice  its  strength,  lay  idle  and  useless  near 
Harper's  Ferry,  in  and  about  Washington,  and  at  Fortress 
Monroe.  Thus  what  should  have  been  a  short,  sharp  struggle 
was  expanded  into  a  long,  desultory  one ;  while  those  whose 
blundering  incapacity  or  lack  of  purpose  was  responsible  for 
those  ills  united  in  throwing  the  blame  on  the  faithful  few 
who  had  counselled  justly,  but  whose  urgent  remonstrances 
they  had  never  heeded.  "  Forward  to  Eichmond  ! "  was  exe 
crated  as  the  impulse  to  disaster,  even  by  some  who  had  lus 
tily  echoed  it ;  and  weary  months  of  halting,  timid,  nerveless, 
yet  costly  warfare,  naturally  followed.  Men  talk  reproach 
fully  of  the  heavy  losses  incurred  by  Grant  in  taking  Eich 
mond,  forgetting  that  his  predecessors  had  lost  yet  more  in 
not  taking  it.  In  war,  energy  —  prompt  and  vigorous  action 

-  is  the  true  economizer  of  suffering,  of  devastation,  and  of 
life.  Had  Napoleon  or  Jackson  been  in  Scott's  place  in  1861, 
the  Eebellion  would  have  been  stamped  out  ere  the  close  of 
that  year ;  but  Slavery  would  have  remained  to  scourge  us 
still.  Thus  disaster  is  overruled  to  subserve  the  ends  of 
beneficence ;  thus  the  evil  of  the  moment  contains  the  germ 
of  good  that  is  enduring ;  and  thus  is  freshly  exemplified  the 
great  truth  proclaimed  by  Pope  :  — 

"  In  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  "Reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear,  —  WHATEVER  is,  is  BIGHT." 


LI. 

ABRAHAM    LINCOLN. 

are  those  who  say  that  Mr.  Lincoln  was  fortu- 
nate  in  his  death  as  in  his  life :  I  judge  otherwise.  I 
hold  him  most  inapt  for  the  leadership  of  a  people  involved 
in  desperate,  agonizing  war;  while  I  deem  few  men  better 
fitted  to  guide  a  nation's  destinies  in  time  of  peace.  Espe 
cially  do  I  deem  him  eminently  fitted  to  soothe,  to  heal,  and 
to  reunite  in  bonds  of  true,  fraternal  affection  a  people  just 
lapsing  into  peace  after  years  of  distracting,  desolating  inter 
nal  strife.  His  true  career  was  just  opening  when  an  assas 
sin's  bullet  quenched  his  light  of  life. 

Mr.  Lincoln  entered  Washington  the  victim  of  a  grave  de 
lusion.  A  genial,  quiet,  essentially  peaceful  man,  trained  in 
the  ways  of  the  bar  and  the  stump,  he  fully  believed  that 
there  would  be  no  civil  war,  —  no  serious  effort  to  consum 
mate  Disunion.  His  faith  in  Eeason  as  a  moral  force  was  so 
implicit  that  he  did  not  cherish  a  doubt  that  his  Inaugural 
Address,  whereon  he  had  bestowed  much  thought  and  labor, 
would,  when  read  throughout  the  South,  dissolve  the  Confed 
eracy  as  frost  is  dissipated  by  a  vernal  sun.  I  sat  just  behind 
him  as  he  read  it,  on  a  bright,  warm,  still  March  day,  expect 
ing  to  hear  its  delivery  arrested  by  the  crack  of  a  rifle  aimed 
at  his  heart ;  but  it  pleased  God  to  postpone  the  deed,  though 
there  was  forty  times  the  reason  for  shooting  him  in  1860 
that  there  was  in  '65,  and  at  least  forty  times  as  many  intent 
on  killing  or  having  him  killed.  No  shot  was  then  fired,  how 
ever  ;  for  his  hour  had  not  yet  come. 

AJmost  every  one  has  personal  anecdotes  of  "  Old  Abe." 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  405 

I  knew  him  more  than  sixteen  years,  met  him  often,  talked 
with  him  familiarly ;  yet,  while  multitudes  fancy  that  he 
was  always  overflowing  with  jocular  narrations  or  reminis 
cences,  I  cannot  remember  that  I  ever  heard  him  tell  an  an 
ecdote  or  story.  One,  however,  that  he  did  tell  while  in  this 
city,  on  his  way  to  assume  the  Presidency,  is  so  characteristic 
of  the  man  and  his  way  of  regarding  portents  of  trouble, 
that  I  here  record  it. 

Almost  eveiy  one  was  asking  him,  with  evident  apprehen 
sion  if  not  perturbation :  "  What  is  to  be  the  issue  of  this 
Southern  effervescence  ?  Are  we  really  to  have  civil  war  ?  " 
and  he  once  responded  in  substance  as  follows  :  — 

"  Many  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  lawyer,  and  Illinois 
was  little  settled,  except  on  her  southern  border,  I,  with  other 
lawyers,  used  to  ride  the  circuit ;  journeying  with  the  judge 
from  county-seat  to  county-seat  in  quest  of  business.  Once, 
after  a  long  spell  of  pouring  rain,  which  had  flooded  the 
whole  country,  transforming  small  creeks  into  rivers,  we  were 
often  stopped  by  these  swollen  streams,  which  we  with  diffi 
culty  crossed.  Still  ahead  of  us  was  Fox  River,  larger  than 
all  the  rest ;  and  we  could  not  help  saying  to  each  other,  '  If 
these  streams  give  us  so  much  trouble,  how  shall  we  get  over 
Fox  Eiver  ? '  Darkness  fell  before  we  had  reached  that 
stream ;  and  we  all  stopped  at  a  log  tavern,  had  our  horses 
put  out,  and  resolved  to  pass  the  night.  Here  we  were  right 
glad  to  fall  in  with  the  Methodist  Presiding  Elder  of  the  cir 
cuit,  who  rode  it  in  all  weather,  knew  all  its  ways,  and  could 
tell  us  all  about  Fox  River.  So  we  all  gathered  around  him, 
and  asked  him  if  he  knew  about  the  crossing  of  Fox  River. 
'  0  yes/  he  replied,  '  I  know  all  about  Fox  River.  I  have 
crossed  it  often,  and  understand  it  well ;  but  I  have  one  fixed 
rule  with  regard  to  Fox  River :  I  never  cross  it  till  I  reach 
it.' " 

I  infer  that  Mr.  Lincoln  did  not  fully  realize  that  we  were 
to  have  a  great  civil  war  till  the  Bull  Run  disaster.  I  cannot 
otherwise  explain  what  seemed  to  many  of  us  his  amazing 
tameness  when  required  by  the  Mayor  and  by  the  Young 


406  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

Christians  of  Baltimore  to  promise  not  to  have  any  more  vol 
unteers  marched  across  the  State  of  Maryland  on  their  way 
to  the  defence  of  Washington.  Had  he  then  realized  that 
bloody  strife  had  become  a  dire  necessity,  I  think  he  would 
have  responded  with  more  spirit. 


When  we  were  at  length  unmistakably  launched  on  the 
stormy  ocean  of  civil  war,  Mr.  Lincoln's  tenacity  of  purpose 
paralleled  his  former  immobility.  I  believe  he  would  have 
been  nearly  the  last,  if  not  the  very  last,  man  in  America  to 
recognize  the  Southern  Confederacy,  had  its  arms  been  trium 
phant.  He  would  have  much  preferred  death. 

This  firmness  impelled  him  to  what  seemed  to  me  a  grave 
error.  Because  he  would  never  consent  to  give  up  the  Union, 
he  dreaded  to  recognize  in  any  manner  the  existence  of  the 
Confederacy.  Yet  such  recognition,  after  the  capture  of  sev 
eral  thousands  of  our  soldiers,  became  inevitable.  Had  For 
tune  uniformly  smiled  on  our  arms,  we  might  have  treated 
the  Rebellion  as  a  seditious  riot ;  but  our  serious  loss  in  pris 
oners  at  Bull  Run  rendered  this  thenceforth  impossible.  We 
were  virtually  compelled  to  recognize  the  Confederates  as 
belligerents,  by  negotiating  an  exchange  of  prisoners.  Thence 
forth  (it  seems  to  me)  we  were  precluded  from  treating  them 
as  felons.  And  I  could  see  no  objection,  not  merely  to  receiv 
ing  with  courtesy  any  overtures  for  peace  they  might  see  fit 
to  make,  but  even  to  making  overtures  to  them,  as  Great 
Britain  so  publicly  did  to  our  Revolutionary  fathers  in  the 
Summer  of  '76. 

War  has  become  so  fearfully  expensive,  through  the  pro 
gress  of  invention  and  machinery,  that  to  protract  it  is  to 
involve  all  parties  in  bankruptcy  and  ruin.  Belligerents  are, 
therefore,  prone  to  protest  their  anxiety  for  Peace,  —  in  most 
cases,  sincerely.  Napoleon,  though  often  at  war,  was  always 
proclaiming  his  anxiety  for  peace.  It  seemed  to  me,  through 
out  our  great  struggle,  that  a  more  vigorous  prosecution,  alike 
of  War  and  of  Peace,  was  desirable.  Larger  armies,  in  the 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  407 

average  more  energetically  led,  more  ably  handled,  seemed  to 
be  the  National  need,  down  to  a  late  stage  of  the  contest. 
And  I  deemed  it  a  mistake  to  put  aside  any  overture  that 
looked  to  the  achievement  of  peace.  Instead  of  repelling 
such  overtures,  however  unpromising,  I  would  have  openly 
welcomed  any  and  all,  and  so  treated  each  as  to  prove  that 
the  continuance  of  war  was  not  the  fault  of  our  side.  And 
so,  when  Henry  May,  Colonel  Jacquess,  and  others,  solicited 
permission  to  go  to  Eichmond  in  quest  of  Peace,  I  would 
have  openly  granted  them  every  facility,  asking  them  only  to 
state  distinctly  that  I  had  not  sent  nor  accredited  them. 
And  I  judge  that  Mr.  Lincoln  slowly  came  to  a  conclusion 
not  dissimilar  to  mine,  since  Mr.  F.  P.  Blair's  two  visits  to 
Eichmond  were  made  with  his  full  knowledge ;  while  his 
own  visit  to  Fortress  Monroe,  there  to  meet  Confederate  Com 
missioners  and  discuss  with  them  terms  of  pacification,  was  a 
formal  notice  to  all  concerned  of  his  anxiety  to  stay  the 
effusion  of  blood.  I  believe  that  this  conference  did  much  to 
precipitate  the  downfall  of  the  tottering  Confederacy.  I 
doubt  whether  any  one  of  Sherman's  nearly  simultaneous 
successes  did  more.  And,  while  Mr.  Lincoln  would  have 
been  a  tenacious  champion  of  the  authority  and  dignity  of 
the  Union  and  the  rights  and  security  of  all  its  loyal  people, 
I  am  sure  the  vanquished  Eebels  would  have  found  him  a 
generous  conqueror. 

Mr.  Lincoln  died  for  his  country  as  truly  as  any  soldier 
who  fell  fighting  in  the  ranks  of  her  armies.  He  was  not 
merely  killed  for  her  sake, — because  of  the  high  responsi 
bilities  she  had  a  second  time  devolved  on  him,  and  the 
fidelity  wherewith  he  fulfilled  them,  —  he  was  worn  out  in 
her  service,  and  would  not,  I  judge,  have  lived  out  his  official 
term,  had  no  one  sought  his  immolation.  When  I  last  saw 
him.  a  few  weeks  before  his  death,  I  was  struck  by  his  hag 
gard,  care-fraught  face,  so  different  from  the  sunny,  gladsome 
countenance  he  first  brought  from  Illinois.  I  felt  that  his  life 
hung  by  so  slender  a  thread  that  any  new  access  of  trouble 
or  excess  of  effort  might  suddenly  close  his  career.  I  had 


408  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

ceased  to  apprehend  Ms  assassination,  —  had  ceased  even  to 
think  of  it ;  yet  "  the  sunset  of  life  "  was  plainly  looking  out 
of  his  kindly  eyes  and  gleaming  from  his  weather-beaten 
visage. 

I  believe  I  neither  enjoy  nor  deserve  the  reputation  of  fa 
voring  exorbitant  allowances  or  lavish  expenditures;  yet  I 
feel  that  my  country  has  been  meanly  parsimonious  in  its 
dealings  with  Mr.  Lincoln's  family.  The  head  of  that  family 
was  fairly  elected  and  inaugurated  President  for  a  second 
term ;  and  he  had  scarcely  entered  upon  that  term  when  he 
was  murdered  because  he  was  President.  I  hold  that  this 
fact  entitled  his  family  to  the  four  years'  salary  which  the 
people  had  voted  to  pay  him ;  that  the  manner  of  his  death 
took  his  case  entirely  out  of  the  category  of  mere  decease 
while  in  office;  and  that  they  should  have  been  paid  the 
$100,000  which,  but  for  Booth's  bullet,  would  have  been 
theirs,  instead  of  the  one  year's  salary  that  was  allowed  them. 
I  am  quite  aware  that  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  and  is  unpopular,  — 
I  need  not  inquire  with  what  reason,  since  I  am  not  pleading 
for  generosity,  but  for  naked  justice.  Buchanan,  trembling  at 
the  rustle  of  a  leaf,  served  out  his  term,  and  was  paid  his  full 
salary ;  dying,  seven  years  later,  of  natural  decay.  To  withhold 
Mr.  Lincoln's  pay  because  he  invoked  the  hatred  of  assassins 
by  his  fearless  fidelity,  and  was  therefore  bereft  of  life  when 
in  the  zenith  of  his  career,  is  to  discourage  fidelity  and  foster 
pusillanimity.  May  not  the  wrong  be  redressed  even  yet  ? 


Mr.  Lincoln  was  emphatically  a  man  of  the  people.  Mr. 
Clay  was  called  "  The  Great  Commoner "  by  those  who  ad 
mired  and  loved  him  ;  but  Clay  was  imperious,  even  haughty, 
in  his  moods,  with  aristocratic  tastes  and  faults,  utterly 
foreign  to  Lincoln's  essentially  plebeian  nature.  There  never 
yet  was  man  so  lowly  as  to  feel  humbled  in  the  presence  of 
Abraham  Lincoln ;  there  was  no  honest  man  who  feared  or 
dreaded  to  meet  him ;  there  was  no  virtuous  society  so  rude 
that,  had  he  casually  dropped  into  it,  he  would  have  checked 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.  409 

innocent  hilarity  or  been  felt  as  a  damper  on  enjoyment. 
Had  he  entered  as  a  stranger  a  logger's  camp  in  the  great 
woods,  a  pioneer's  bark-covered  cabin  in  some  new  settle 
ment,  he  would  have  soon  been  recognized  and  valued  as  one 
whose  acquaintance  was  to  be  prized  and  cultivated. 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  essentially  a  growing  man.  Enjoying  no 
advantages  in  youth,  he  had  observed  and  reflected  much 
since  he  attained  to  manhood,  and  he  was  steadily  increasing 
his  stock  of  knowledge  to  the  day  of  his  death.  He  was  a 
wiser,  abler  man  when  he  entered  upon  his  second  than  when 
he  commenced  his  first  Presidential  term.  His  mental  pro 
cesses  were  slow,  but  sure ;  if  he  did  not  acquire  swiftly,  he 
retained  all  that  he  had  once  learned.  Greater  men  our 
country  has  produced;  but  not  another  whom,  humanly 
speaking,  she  could  so  ill  spare,  when  she  lost  him,  as  the 
victim  of  Wilkes  Booth's  murderous  aim. 


Though  I  very  heartily  supported  it  when  made,  I  did  not 
favor  his  re-nomination  as  President ;  for  I  wanted  the  War 
driven  onward  with  vehemence,  and  this  was  not  in  his 
nature.  Always  dreading  that  the  National  credit  would 
fail,  or  the  National  resolution  falter,  I  feared  that  his  easy 
ways  would  allow  the  Eebellion  to  obtain  European  recogni 
tion  and  achieve  ultimate  success.  But  that  "  Divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends  "  was  quietly  working  out  for  us  a  larger  and 
fuller  deliverance  than  I  had  dared  to  hope  for,  leaving  to 
such  short-sighted  mortals  as  I  no  part  but  to  wonder  and 
adore.  We  have  had  chieftains  who  would  have  crushed  out  the 
Rebellion  in  six  months,  and  restored  "the  Union  as  it  was"; 
but  God  gave  us  the  one  leader  whose  control  secured  not 
only  the  downfall  of  the  Rebellion,  but  the  eternal  overthrow 
of  Human  Slavery  under  the  flag  of  the  Great  Republic. 


LII. 

JEFFERSON    DAVIS. 

THE  President  of  the  Southern  Confederacy  was  chosen 
by  a  capable,  resolute  aristocracy,  with  express  refer 
ence  to  the  arduous  task  directly  before  him.  The  choice 
was  deliberate,  and  apparently  wise.  Mr.  Davis  was  in  the 
mature  prime  of  life;  his  natural  abilities  were  good;  his 
training  varied  and  thorough.  He  had  been  educated  at 
West  Point,  which,  with  all  its  faults,  I  judge  the  best  school 
yet  established  in  our  country ;  he  had  served  in  our  little 
army  in  peace,  and  as  a  Colonel  of  volunteers  in  the  Mexican 
War ;  returning  to  civil  life,  he  had  been  conspicuous  in  the 
politics  of  his  State  and  the  Nation ;  had  been  elected  to  the 
Senate,  and  there  met  in  courteous  but  earnest  encounter 
Henry  Clay  and  his  compeers ;  had  been  four  years  Secretary 
of  War  under  President  Pierce ;  and  had,  immediately  on  his 
retiring  from  that  post,  been  returned  to  the  Senate,  whereof 
his  admirers  styled  him  "  the  Cicero,"  and  whereof  he  con 
tinued  a  member  until  —  not  without  manifest  reluctance  — 
he  resigned  and  returned  to  Mississippi  to  cast  his  future 
fortunes  into  the  seething  caldron  of  Secession  and  Disunion. 
As  compared  with  the  homely  country  lawyer,  Abraham 
Lincoln,  —  reared  in  poverty  and  obscurity,  with  none  other 
than  a  common-school  education,  and  precious  little  of  that ; 
whose  familiarity  with  public  affairs  was  confined  to  three 
sessions  of  the  Illinois  Legislature  and  a  single  term  in  the 
House  of  Eepresentatives,  —  it  would  seem  that  the  advan 
tage  of  chieftains  was  largely  on  the  side  of  the  Confederacy. 
The  contrast  between  them  was  striking,  but  imperfect; 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS.  411 

for  each  was  thoroughly  in  earnest,  thoroughly  persuaded  of 
the  justice  of  the  cause  whereof  he  stood  forth  the  foremost 
champion,  and  signally  gifted  with  that  quality  which,  in  the 
successful,  is  termed  tenacity,  in  the  luckless,  obstinacy.  Mr. 
Lincoln  was  remarkably  devoid  of  that  magnetic  quality 
which  thrills  the  masses  with  enthusiasm,  rendering  them 
heedless  of  sacrifice  and  insensible  to  danger ;  Mr.  Davis  was 
nowise  distinguished  by  its  possession.  As  the  preacher  of  a 
crusade,  either  of  them  had  many  superiors.  But  Mr.  Davis 
carefully  improved  —  as  Mr.  Lincoln  did  not  —  every  oppor 
tunity  to  proclaim  his  own  undoubting  faith  in  the  justice  of 
his  cause,  and  labored  to  diffuse  that  conviction  as  widely  as 
possible.  His  successive  messages  and  other  manifestoes  were 
well  calculated  to  dispel  the  doubts  and  inflame  the  zeal  of 
those  who  regarded  him  as  their  chief;  while,  apart  from  his 
first  Inaugural,  and  his  brief  speech  at  the  Gettysburg  cele 
bration,*  Mr.  Lincoln  made  little  use  of  his  many  oppor 
tunities  to  demonstrate  the  justice  and  necessity  of  the  War 
for  the  Union. 

Mr.  Davis,  after  the  fortunes  of  his  Confederacy  waned, 
was  loudly  accused  of  favoritism  in  the  allotment  of  Military 
trusts.  He  is  said  to  have  distrusted  and  undervalued  Joseph 
Johnston,  which,  if  so,  was  a  grave  error ;  for  Johnston  proved 
himself  an  able  and  trustworthy  commander,  if  not  a  great 
military  genius,  —  never  a  blunderer,  and  never  intoxicated 
by  success  nor  paralyzed  by  disaster.  His  displacement  in 
1864  by  Hood,  as  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  of  Georgia, 
was  proved  a  mistake ;  but  it  was  more  defensible  than  the 
appointment  of  Halleck  as  General-in-Chief  of  our  armies, 
directly  after  his  failure  on  the  Tennessee.  Bragg  is  named  as 
first  of  Davis's  pets ;  but  Bragg  seems  to  me  to  have  proved 
himself  a  good  soldier,  and  to  have  shown  decided  capacity  at 
the  Battle  of  Stone  Eiver,  though  he  was  ultimately  obliged 
to  leave  the  field  (and  little  else)  to  Eosecrans.  Pemberton 
was  accounted  another  of  Davis's  overrated  favorites;  but 
Pemberton,  being  of  Northern  birth,  was  never  fully  trusted, 

*  November  19,  1863. 


412  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

nor  fairly  judged,  by  his  compatriots.  On  a  full  survey  of  the 
ground,  I  judge  that  Davis  evinced  respectable,  not  brilliant, 
capacities,  in  his  stormy  and  trying  Presidential  career ;  and 
that  his  qualifications  for  the  post  were  equal  to,  while  his 
faults  were  no  greater  than,  Mr.  Lincoln's. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  judgment  of  his  compatriots, 
who  extravagantly  exaggerated  his  merits  while  their  cause 
seemed  to  prosper,  and  as  unjustly  magnified  his  faults  and 
short-comings  from  the  moment  wherein  their  star  first  visibly 
waned.  They  were  ready  to  make  him  Emperor  in  1862 ; 
they  regarded  him  as  their  evil  genius  in  1865.  Having 
rushed  into  war  in  undoubting  confidence  that  their  success 
was  inevitable,  they  were  astounded  at  their  defeat,  and  im 
pelled  to  believe  that  their  resources  had  been  dissipated  and 
their  armies  overwhelmed  through  mismanagement.  They 
were  like  the  idolater,  who  adores  his  god  after  a  victory,  but 
flogs  him  when  smarting  under  defeat. 

A  baleful  mischance  saved  Mr.  Davis  from  the  fate  of  a 
scapegoat.  After  even  he  had  given  up  the  Confederacy  as 
lost,  and  realized  that  he  was  no  longer  a  President,  but  a 
fugitive  and  outlaw,  he  was  surprised  and  assailed,  while 
making  his  way  through  Georgia  to  the  Florida  coast  with 
intent  to  escape  from  the  country,  by  two  regiments  of  Union 
cavalry,  and  captured.  I  am  confident  that  this  would  not 
have  occurred  had  Mr.  Lincoln  survived,  —  certainly  not,  if 
our  shrewd  and  kind-hearted  President  could  have  prevented 
it.  But  his  murder  had  temporarily  maddened  the  millions 
who  loved  and  trusted  him ;  and  his  successor,  sharing  and 
inflaming  the  popular  frenzy,  had  put  forth  a  Proclamation 
charging  Davis,  among  others,  with  conspiracy  to  procure 
that  murder,  and  offering  large  rewards  for  their  arrest  as 
traitors  and  assassins.  Captured  in  full  view  of  that  Procla 
mation,  he  might  have  been  forthwith  tried  by  a  drum-head 
Court-Martial,  "  organized  to  convict,"  found  guilty,  sentenced, 
and  put  to  death. 

This,  however,  was  not  done ;  but  he  was  escorted  to  Sa 
vannah,  thence  shipped  to  Fortress  Monroe,  and  there  closely 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS.  413 

imprisoned,  with  aggravations  of  harsh  and  (it  seems)  need 
less  indignity.  An  indictment  for  treason  was  found  against 
him ;  but  he  remained  a  military  prisoner  in  close  jail  for 
nearly  two  years,  before  even  a  pretence  was  made  of  arraign 
ing  him  for  trial. 

Meantime,  public  sentiment  had  become  more  rational  and 
discriminating.  Davis  was  still  intensely  and  widely  de 
tested  as  the  visible  embodiment,  the  responsible  head,  of  the 
Eebellion ;  but  no  one  now  seriously  urged  that  he  be  tried 
by  Court-Martial  and  shot  off-hand ;  nor  was  it  certain  that 
a  respectable  body  of  officers  could  be  found  to  subserve  such 
an  end.  •  To  send  him  before  a  civil  tribunal,  and  allow  him 
a  fair  trial,  was  morally  certain  to  result  in  a  defeat  of  the 
prosecution,  through  disagreement  of  the  jury,  or  otherwise ; 
for  no  opponent  of  the  Eepublican  party,  whether  North  or 
South,  would  agree  to  find  him  guilty.  And  there  was  grave 
doubt  whether  he  could  be  legally  convicted,  now  that  the 
charge  of  inciting  Wilkes  Booth's  crime  had  been  tacitly 
abandoned.  Mr.  Webster  *  had  only  given  clearer  expression 
to  the  general  American  doctrine,  that,  after  a  revolt  has  levied 
a  regular  army,  and  fought  therewith  a  pitched  battle,  its 
champions,  even  though  utterly  defeated,  cannot  be  tried  and 
convicted  as  traitors.  This  may  be  an  extreme  statement ; 
but  surely  a  rebellion  which  has  for  years  maintained  great 
armies,  levied  taxes  and  conscriptions,  negotiated  loans,  fought 
scores  of  sanguinary  battles  with  alternate  successes  and 
reverses,  and  exchanged  tens  of  thousands  of  prisoners  of  war, 
can  hardly  fail  to  have  achieved  thereby  the  position  and  the 
rights  of  a  lawful  belligerent.  Just  suppose  the  case  (nowise 
improbable)  of  two  Commissioners  for  the  exchange  of  pris 
oners, — like  Mulford  and  Ould,  for  example,  —  who  had  for 
years  been  meeting  to  settle  formalities,  and  exchange  boat 
loads  of  prisoners  of  war,  until  at  length  —  the  power  repre 
sented  by  one  of  them  having  been  utterly  vanquished  and 
broken  down — that  one  is  arrested  by  the  victors  as  a  traitor, 
and  the  other  directed  to  prosecute  him  to  conviction  and 

*  In  his  first  Bunker  Hill  Oration. 


414  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

consign  him  to  execution,  —  how  would  the  case  be  regarded 
l»y  impartial  observers  in  this  later  half  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century  ?  And  suppose  this  trial  to  take  place  two  years 
after  the  discomfiture  and  break-down  aforesaid,  —  what  then  ? 

Mr.  Andrew  Johnson  had  seen  fit  to  change  his  views  and 
his  friends  since  his  unexpected  accession  to  the  Presidency, 
and  had,  from  an  intemperate  denouncer  of  the  beaten  Eebels 
as  deserving  severe  punishment,  become  their  protector  and 
patron.  Jefferson  Davis,  in  Fortress  Monroe,  under  his  proc 
lamation  aforesaid,  was  an  ugly  elephant  on  Johnson's  hands ; 
and  thousands  were  anxious  that  he  should  remain  there. 
Their  view  of  the  matter  did  not  impress  me  as  statesman 
like,  nor  even  sagacious. 

The  Federal  Constitution  expressly  provides*  that, 

"  In  all  criminal  prosecutions,  the  accused  shall  enjoy  the  right 
to  a  speedy  and  public  trial,  by  an  impartial  jury  of  the  State  and 
district  wherein  the  crime  shall  have  been  committed,"  &c. 

In  times  of  war  and  grave  public  peril,  Constitutions  cannot 
always  be  strictly  heeded ;  but  what  national  interest  required 
that  this  provision  should  be  persistently,  ostentatiously  defied  ? 

An  Irishman,  swearing  the  peace  against  his  three  sons  for 
pertinaciously  assaulting  and  abusing  him,  made  this  proper 
reservation :  "  And  your  deponent  would  ask  your  honor  to 
deal  tenderly  with  his  youngest  son,  Larry,  who  never  struck 
him  when  he  was  down."  I  confess  to  some  fellow-feeling 
with  Larry. 

Mr.  George  Shea,  the  attorney  of  record  for  the  defence  in 
the  case  of  The  United  States  versus  Jefferson  Davis,  indicted 
for  treason,  is  the  son  of  an  old  friend,  and  I  have  known  and 
liked  him  from  infancy.  After  it  had  become  evident  that 
his  client  had  no  immediate  prospect  of  trial,  if  any  prospect 
at  all,  Mr.  Shea  became  anxious  that  said  client  be  liberated 
on  bail.  Consulting  me  as  to  the  feasibility  of  procuring 
some  names  to  be  proffered  as  bondsmen  of  persons  who  had 

*  Amendments,  Art.  VL 


JEFFERSON  DAVIS.  415 

conspicuously  opposed  the  Rebellion  and  all  the  grave  errors 
which  incited  it,  I  suggested  two  eminent  Unionists,  who,  I 
presumed,  would  cheerfully  consent  to  stand  as  security  that 
the  accused  would  not  run  away  to  avoid  the  trial  he  had 
long  but  unsuccessfully  invoked.     I  added,  after  reflection, 
"  If  my  name  should  be  found  necessary,  you  may  use  that." 
He  thanked  me,  and  said  he  should  proffer  it  only  in  case  the 
others  abundantly  at  his  command  would  not  answer  without 
it.     Months  passed  before  I  was  apprised,  by  a  telegram  from 
Washington,  that  my  name  was  needed ;  when  I  went  down 
and  proffered   it.     And  when,  at  length,  the  prisoner  was 
brought  before  the  United  States  District  Court  at  Richmond,* 
I  was  there,  by  invitation,  and  signed  the  bond  in  due  form.' 
I  suppose  this  would  have  excited  some  hubbub  at  any 
rate ;  but  the  actual  tumult  was  gravely  aggravated  by  gross 
misstatements.     It  was  widely  asserted  that   the  object  of 
giving  bail  was  to  screen  the  accused  from  trial,  —  in  other 
words,  to  enable  him  to  run  away,  —  when  nothing  like  this 
was  ever  imagined  by  those  concerned.     The  prisoner,  through 
his  counsel,  had  assiduously  sought  a  trial,  while  the  pros 
ecution  was  not  ready,  because  (as  Judge  Underwood  was 
obliged  to  testify  before  a  Committee  of  Congress)  no  convic 
tion  was  possible,  except  by  packing  a  jury.    The  words  "  straw 
bail "  were  used  in  this  connection ;  when  one  of  the  sureties 
is  worth  several  millions  of  dollars,  and  the  poorest  of  them 
is  abundantly  good  for  the  sum  of  $  5,000,  in  which  he  is 
"  held  and  firmly  bound "  to  produce  the  body  of  Jefferson 
Davis  whenever  the  plaintiff  shall  be  ready  to  try  him.     If 
he  only  would  run  away,  I  know  that  very  many  people  would 
be  much  obliged  to  him  ;  but  he  won't. 

It  was  telegraphed  all  over  the  North  that  I  had  a  very 
affectionate  meeting  and  greeting  with  the  prisoner  when  he 
had  been  bailed ;  when  in  fact  I  had  never  before  spoken  nor 
written  to  him  any  message  whatever,  and  did  not  know  him, 
even  by  sight,  when  he  entered  the  court-room.  After  the 
bond  was  signed,  one  of  his  counsel  asked  me  if  I  had  any 

*  May  13,  1867. 


416  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

objection  to  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Davis,  and  I  replied  that 
I  had  none;  whereupon  we  were  introduced,  and  simply 
greeted  each  other.  I  made,  at  the  request  of  a  friend,  a 
brief  call  on  his  wife  that  evening,  as  they  were  leaving  for 
Canada ;  and  there  our  intercourse  ended,  probably  forever. 

When  the  impeachment  of  President  Johnson  was  fully 
resolved  on,  and  there  was  for  some  weeks  a  fair  prospect 
that  Mr.  Wade  would  soon  be  President,  with  a  Cabinet  of 
like  Eadical  faith,  I  suggested  to  some  of  the  prospective  Pres 
ident's  next  friends  that  I  had  Jefferson  Davis  still  on  my 
hands,  and  that,  if  he  were  considered  a  handy  thing  to  have 
in  the  house,  I  might  turn  him  over  to  the  new  Administra 
tion  for  trial  at  an  hour's  notice.  The  suggestion  evoked  no 
enthusiasm,  and  I  was  not  encouraged  to  press  it. 


I  trust  no  one  will  imagine  that  I  have  made  this  state 
ment  with  any  purpose  of  self- vindication.     To  all  who  have 
civilly  accosted  me  on  the  subject,  I  trust  I  have  given  civil, 
if  not  satisfactory,  answers ;  while  most  of  those  who  have 
seen  fit  to  assail  me  respecting  it,  I  have  chosen  to  treat  with 
silent  scorn.     I  believe  no  one  has  yet  succeeded  in  inventing 
an  unworthy  motive  for  my  act  that  could  impose  on  the 
credulity  of  a  child,  or  even  of  my  bitterest  enemy.     I  was 
quite  aware  that  what  I  did  would  be  so  represented  as  to 
alienate  for  a  season  some  valued  friends,  and  set  against  me 
the  great  mass  of  those  who  know  little  and  think  less  ;  thou 
sands  even  of  those  who  rejoiced  over  Davis's  release,  never 
theless  joining,  full-voiced,  in  the  howl  against  me.     I  knew 
that  I  should  outlive  the  hunt,  and  could  afford  to  smile  at 
the  pack,  even  when  its  cry  was  loudest.     So  I  went  quietly 
on  my  way;  and  in  due  time  the  storm  gave  place  to  a  calm. 
And  now,  if  there  is  a  man  on  earth  who  wishes  Jefferson 
Davis  were  back  in  his  cell,  awaiting,  in  the  fourth  year  of 
his  detention,  the  trial  denied  him  in  the  three  preceding,  he 
is  at  liberty  to  denounce  me  for  my  course,  in  the  assurance 
that  he  can  by  no  means  awake  a  regret  or  provoke  a  reply. 


LIII. 

AUTHORSHIP.  — WRITINGS   HISTORY. 

ALMOST  every  one  who  can  write  at  all  is  apt,  in  the 
course  of  his  life,  to  write  something  which  he  fancies 
others  may  read  with  pleasure  or  with  profit.  For  my  own 
part,  beyond  a  few  boyish  letters  to  relatives  and  intimate 
friends,  I  began  my  efforts  at  composition  as  an  apprentice  in 
a  newspaper  office,  by  condensing  the  news,  more  especially 
the  foreign,  which  I  was  directed  to  put  into  type  from  the 
city  journals  received  at  our  office ;  endeavoring  to  give  in 
fewer  words  the  gist  of  the  information,  in  so  far,  at  least,  as 
it  would  be  likely  to  interest  our  rural  readers.  Our  Editor, 
during  the  latter  part  of  my  stay  in  Poultney,  was  a  Baptist 
clergyman,  whose  pastoral  charge  was  at  some  distance,  and 
who  was  therefore  absent  from  us  much  of  his  time,  and 
allowed  me  a  wide  discretion  in  preparing  matter  for  the 
paper.  This  I  improved,  not  only  in  the  selection,  but  in 
the  condensation,  of  news.  The  rudimentary  knowledge  of 
the  art  of  composition  thus  acquired  was  gradually  improved 
during  my  brief  experience  as  a  journeyman  in  various  news 
paper  establishments,  and  afterward  as  a  printer  of  sundry 
experimental  journals  in  this  city ;  so  that  I  began  my  dis 
tinctive,  avowed  editorial  career  in  The  New-Yorker  with  a 
considerable  experience  as  a  writer  of  articles  and  paragraphs. 
I  had  even  written  verses,  —  never  fluently  nor  happily,  —  but 
tolerably  well  measured,  and  faintly  evincing  an  admiration 
of  Byron,  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  other  popular  writers,  —  an 
admiration  which  I  never  mistook  for  inspiration  or  genius. 
While  true  poets  are  few,  those  who  imagine  themselves 
27 


418  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

capable  of  becoming  such  are  many ;  but  I  never  advanced 
even  to  this  grade.  I  knew  that  my  power  of  expression  in 
verse  was  defective,  as  though  I  had  an  impediment  in  my 
speech,  or  spoke  with  my  mouth  full  of  pebbles ;  and  I  very 
soon  renounced  the  fetters  of  verse,  content  to  utter  my 
thoughts  thenceforth  in  unmistakable  prose.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  know  that  not  many  survive  who  remember  having  read 
any  of  the  few  rhymed  effusions  of  my  incautious  youth. 


I  had  been  nearly  twenty  years  a  constant  writer  for  the 
newspaper  press  ere  I  ventured  (in  1850)  to  put  forth  a 
volume.  This  was  entitled  "Hints  toward  Reforms,"  and 
consisted  mainly  of  Lectures  and  Addresses  prepared  for 
delivery  before  village  lyceums  and  other  literary  associations 
from  time  to  time  throughout  the  preceding  six  or  eight 
years.  Most  of  them  regarded  Social  questions ;  but  their 
range  was  very  wide,  including  Political  Economy,  the  Right 
to  Labor,  Land  for  the  Landless,  Protection  to  Home  In 
dustry,  Popular  Education,  Capital  Punishment,  Abstinence 
from  Alcoholic  potations,  &c.,  &c.  My  volume  was  an 
ordinary  duodecimo  of  425  pages,  compactly  filled  with  the 
best  thoughts  I  had  to  offer ;  all  designed  to  strengthen  and 
diffuse  sympathy  with  misfortune  and  suffering,  and  to  pro 
mote  the  substantial,  permanent  well-being  of  mankind. 
When  I  had  fully  prepared  it,  I  sent  the  copy  to  the  Harpers ; 
and  they  agreed  to  publish  it  fairly,  on  condition  that  I  paid 
the  cost  of  stereotyping  (about  $400),  when  they  would  give 
me  (as  I  recollect)  ten  cents  per  copy  on  all  they  sold.  I 
cheerfully  accepted  the  terms,  and  the  work  was  published 
accordingly.  I  believe  the  sales  nearly  reimbursed  my  out 
lay  for  stereotyping  ;  so  that  I  attained  the  dignity  of  author 
ship  at  a  very  moderate  cost.  Green  authors  are  apt  to 
suffer  from  disappointment  and  chagrin  at  the  failure  of  their 
works  to  achieve  them  fame  and  fortune.  I  was  fairly  treated 
by  the  press  and  the  public,  and  had  no  more  desire  than 
reason  to  complain. 


AUTHORSHIP.  —  WRITING  HISTORY.  419 

I  have  given  these  unflattering  reminiscences  so  fully,  be 
cause  I  would  be  useful  to  young  aspirants  to  authorship, 
even  at  the  cost  of  losing  their  good-will.  I  have  been  soli 
cited  by  many  —  0,  so  many  !  —  of  them  to  find  publishers 
for  the  poems  or  the  novel  of  each,  in  the  sanguine  expecta 
tion  that  a  publisher  was  the  only  requisite  to  his  achieve 
ment  of  fortune  and  renown ;  when,  in  fact,  each  had  great 
need  of  a  public,  none  (as  yet)  of  a  publisher.  You  are  sure, 
0  gushing  youth !  that  your  poems  are  such  as  no  other 
youth  ever  wrote,  —  such  as  Pindar,  or  Dante,  or  Milton 
would  read  with  delight,  —  and  I  acquiesce  in  your  judgment. 
But  the  great  mass  of  readers  have  not  "  the  vision  and  the 
faculty  divine " ;  they  are  prosaic,  plodding,  heavy- witted 
persons,  who  read  and  admire  what  they  are  told  others  have 
read  and  admired  before  them,  —  if  the  discovery  of  new 
Homers  and  Shakespeares  were  to  rest  with  them,  none  would 
henceforth  be  distinguished  from  the  common  herd.  You, 
we  will  agree,  are  such  a  genius  as  Heaven  vouchsafes  us  once 
in  two  or  three  centuries ;  but  can  you  dream  that  such  are 
discerned  and  appreciated  by  the  great  mass  of  their  cotem- 
poraries  ?  How  much,  think  you,  did  Homer,  or  Dante,  or 
Milton  receive  from  the  sale  of  his  works  to  the  general  pub 
lic  ?  Nay  :  how  much  did  Shakespeare's  poetry,  as  poetry,  con 
tribute  to  his  sustenance  ?  Nay,  more :  do  you,  having  ac 
quired  the  greenback-cost  of  adding  a  volume  to  your  library, 
buy  the  span-new  verses  of  Stiggins  Dobbs  or  C.  Pugsley 
Jagger  ?  You  know  that  you  do  not,  —  that  you  buy  Shelley, 
or  Beranger,  or  Tennyson,  instead.  Then  how  can  you  expect 
the  great  mass  of  us,  who  have  not  the  faintest  claim  to  genius 
or  special  discernment,  to  recognize  your  untrumpeted  merit 
and  buy  your  volume  ?  You  ought  to  know  that  we  shall 
foUow  your  example,  and  buy  — if  we  ever  buy  poems  at  aU 
-those  of  some  one  whose  fame  has  already  reached  even 
our  dull  ears  and  fixed  our  heedless  attention.  Hence  it  is 
that  no  judicious  publisher  will  buy  your  manuscript,  nor 
print  it,  even  if  you  were  to  make  him  a  present  of  it.  He 
can't  afford  it.  And  your  talk  of  the  stupidity,  the  incom- 


420  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

petency,  the  rapacity,  or  the  cruelty  of  publishers  is  wholly 
aside  from  the  case.  Not  one  first  work  in  a  hundred  ever 
pays  the  cost  of  its  publication.  True,  yours  may  be  the  rare 
exception ;  but  the  publisher  is  hardly  to  blame  that  he  does 
not  see  it.  . 

A  year  or  two  later,  on  my  return  from  my  first  visit  to 
Europe,  I  was  surprised  by  an  offer  to  publish  in  a  volume 
the  letters  I  had  written  thence  to  The  Tribune,  and  pay  me 
copyright  thereon.  I  knew,  right  well,  that  they  did  not  de 
serve  such  distinction,  — that  they  were  flimsy  and  super 
ficial,  —  things  of  a  day;  to  be  read  in  the  morning  and  for 
gotten  at  night.  But  it  seems  that  some  who  had  read  them 
in  The  Tribune  wished  to  have  them  in  a  more  compact,  port 
able  shape ;  while  it  was  highly  improbable  that  any  others 
would  be  tempted  to  buy  them :  so  I  consented,  and  revised 
them ;  and  they  duly  appeared  as  "  Glances  at  Europe"  in 
1851-52.  I  recollect  my  share  of  the  proceeds  was  about 
$500;  for  which  I  had  taken  no  pecuniary  risk,  and  done 
very  little  labor.  Had  the  work  been  profounder,  and  more 
deserving,  I  presume  it  would  not  have  sold  so  well,  —  at  all 
events,  not  so  speedily. 

Years  passed ;  I  made  my  long-meditated  overland  journey 
to  California ;  and  the  letters  I  wrote  during  that  trip,  printed 
from  week  to  week  in  The  Tribune,  were  collected  on  my  re 
turn,  and  printed  in  a  volume  nearly  equal  in  size  to  either 
of  my  former.  As  a  photograph  of  scenes  that  were  then 
passing  away,  of  a  region  on  the  point  of  rapid  and  striking 
transformation,  I  judge  that  this  "  Overland  Journey  to  Cali 
fornia  in  1859  "  may  be  deemed  worth  looking  into  by  a  dozen 
persons  per  annum  for  the  next  twenty  years.  Its  publishers 
failed,  however,  very  soon  after  its  appearance ;  so  that  my 
returns  from  it  for  copyright  were  inconsiderable. 

And  now  came  the  Presidential  contest  of  1860,  closely 
followed  by  Secession  and  Civil  War,  whereof  I  had  no 


AUTHORSHIP.—  WRITING  HISTORY.  421 

thougnt  of  ever  becoming  the  historian.  In  fact,  not  till  that 
War  was  placed  on  its  true  basis  of  a  struggle  for  liberation, 
and  not  conquest,  by  President  Lincoln's  successive  Procla 
mations  of  Freedom,  would  I  have  consented  to  write  its  his 
tory.  Not  till  I  had  confronted  the  Eebellion  as  a  positive, 
desolating  force,  right  here  in  New  York,  at  the  doors  of  ear 
nest  Republicans,  in  the  hunting  down  and  killing  of  defence 
less,  fleeing  Blacks,  in  the  burning  of  the  Colored  Orphan 
Asylum,  and  in  the  mobbing  and  firing  of  The  Tribune  office, 
could  I  have  been  moved  to  delineate  its  impulses,  aims,  pro 
gress,  and  impending  catastrophe. 

A  very  few  days  after  the  national  triumph  at  Gettysburg, 
with  the  kindred  and  almost  simultaneous  successes  of  Gen 
eral  Grant  in  the  capture  of  Vicksburg,  and  General  Banks 
in  that  of  Port  Hudson,  with  the  consequent  suppression  of 
the  (so  called)  "Riots"  in  this  city,  I  was  visited  by  two 
strangers,  who  introduced  themselves  as  Messrs.  Newton  and 
O.  D.  Case,  publishers,  from  Hartford,  and  solicited  me  to 
write  the  History  of  the  Rebellion.  I  hesitated;  for  my 
labors  and  responsibilities  were  already  most  arduous  and 
exacting,  yet  could  not,  to  any  considerable  extent,  be  trans 
ferred  to  others.  The  compensation  offered  would  be  liberal, 
in  case  the  work  should  attain  a  very  large  sale,  but  other 
wise  quite  moderate.  I  finally  decided  to  undertake  the  task, 
knowing  well  that  it  involved  severe,  protracted  effort  on  my 
part ;  and  I  commenced  upon  it  a  few  weeks  later,  after  col 
lecting  such  materials  as  were  then  accessible.  I  hired  for 
my  workshop  a  room  on  the  third  floor  of  the  new  Bible 
House,  on  Eighth  Street  and  Third  and  Fourth  Avenues,  pro 
cured  the  requisite  furniture,  hired  a  secretary,  brought 
thither  rny  materials,  and  set  to  work.  Hither  I  repaired, 
directly  after  breakfast  each  week-day  morning,  and  read  and 
compared  the  various  documents,  official  reports,  newspaper 
letters,  &c.,  &c.,  that  served  as  materials  for  a  chapter,  while 
my  secretary  visited  libraries  at  my  direction,  and  searched 
out  material  among  my  documents  and  elsewhere.  The  great 
public  libraries  of  New  York,  —  Society,  Historical,  Astor, 


422  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

and  Mercantile  —  all  cluster  around  the  Bible  House  ;  the  two 
last-named  being  within  a  bowshot.  I  occasionally  visited 
either  of  them,  in  personal  quest  of  material  otherwise  inac 
cessible.  When  I  had  the  substance  of  my  next  chapter 
pretty  fairly  in  mind,  I  began  to  compose  that  chapter  ;  hav 
ing  often  several  authorities  conveniently  disposed  around 
me,  with  that  on  which  I  principally  relied  lying  open  before 
me.  I  oftener  wrote  out  my  first  draft,  merely  indicating 
extracts  where  such  were  to  be  quoted  at  some  length ;  leav 
ing  these  to  be  inserted  by  my  secretary  when  he  came  to 
transcribe  my  text ;  but  I  sometimes  dictated  to  my  secre 
tary,  who  took  short7hand  notes  of  what  I  said,  and  wrote 
them  out  at  his  leisure.  My  first  chapter  was  thus  composed 
at  one  sitting,  after  some  days  had  been  given  to  the  arrange 
ment  of  materials  ;  but,  usually,  two  days,  or  even  three, 
were  given  to  the  composition  of  each  of  the  longer  chapters, 
after  I  had  prepared  and  digested  its  material.  Our  rule  was 
to  lock  the  door  on  resuming  composition,  and  decline  all 
solicitations  to  open  it  till  the  day's  allotted  task  had  been 
finished  ;  and  this  was  easy  while  my  "  den  "  was  known  to 
very  few  ;  but  that  knowledge  was  gradually  diffused ;  and  more 
and  more  persons  found  excuses  for  dropping  in  ;  until  I  was 
at  length  subject  to  daily,  and  even  more  frequent,  though  sel 
dom  to  protracted,  interruptions.  I  think,  however,  that  if  I 
should  ever  again  undertake  such  a  labor,  I  would  allow  the 
location  of  my  "  den  "  to  be  known  to  but  one  person  at  The 
Tribune  office,  who  should  be  privileged  to  knock  at  its  door 
in  cases  of  extreme  urgency,  and  I  would  have  that  door  open 
to  no  one  beside  but  my  secretary  and  myself.  Even  my 
proof-sheets  should  await  me  at  The  Tribune  office,  whither  I 
always  repaired,  to  commence  a  day's  work  as  Editor,  after 
finishing  one  as  Author  at  the  "  den." 

A  chapter  having  been  fairly  written  out  or  transcribed  by 
my  secretary,  while  I  was  "  reading  up  "  for  another,  I  care 
fully  revised  and  sent  it  to  the  stereotyper,  who  sent  me  his 
second  and  third  proofs,  which  were  successively  corrected 
before  the  pages  were  ready  to  be  cast.  Sometimes,  the  dis- 


AUTHORSHIP.  —  WRITING  HISTORY.  423 

covery  of  new  material  compelled  the  revision  and  recast  of 
a  chapter  which  had  been  passed  as  complete.  And,  though 
the  material  was  very  copious,  —  more  so,  I  presume,  than 
that  from  which  the  history  of  any  former  war  was  written,  — 
it  was  still  exceedingly  imperfect  and  contradictory.  For  in 
stance  :  when  I  came  to  the  pioneer  Secession  of  South  Caro 
lina,  I  wished  to  study  it  in  the  proceedings  and  debates  of 
her  Legislature  and  Convention  as  reported  in  at  least  one  of 
her  own  journals  ;  and  of  these  I  found  but  a  single  file  pre 
served  in  our  city  (at  the  Society  Library),  though  four  years 
had  not  yet  expired  since  that  Secession  occurred.  A  year 
later,  I  probably  could  not  have  found  one  at  all.  Of  the  score 
or  so  of  speeches  made  by  Jefferson  Davis,  often  from  cars, 
while  on  his  way  from  Mississippi  to  assume  at  Montgomery 
the  Presidency  of  the  Confederacy,  I  found  but  two  con 
densed  reports ;  and  one  of  these,  I  apprehend,  was  apocry 
phal.  In  many  cases,  I  found  officers  reported  killed  in  bat 
tles  whom  I  afterward  found  fighting  in  subsequent  battles ; 
whence  I  conclude  that  they  had  not  been  killed  so  dead  as 
they  might  have  been.  Some  of  the  errors  into  which  I  was 
thus  led  by  my  authorities  were  not  corrected  till  after  my 
work  was  printed;  when  the  gentlemen  thus  conclusively 
disposed  of  began  to  write  me,  insisting  that,  though  desper 
ately  wounded  at  the  battle  in  question,  they  had  decided  not 
to  give  up  the  ghost,  and  so  still  remained  in  the  land  of  em 
bodied  rather  than  that  of  disembodied  souls.  Their  testimony 
was  so  direct  and  pointed  that  I  was  constrained  to  believe  it, 
and  to  correct  page  after  page  accordingly.  I  presume  a  few, 
even  yet,  remain  consigned  to  the  shades  in  my  book,  who 
nevertheless,  to  this  day,  consume  rations  of  beef  and  pork 
with  most  unspiritual  regularity  and  self-satisfaction.  There 
doubtless  remain  some  other  errors,  though  I  have  corrected 
many ;  and,  as  I  have  stated  many  more  particulars  than  my 
rivals  in  the  same  field  have  usually  done,  it  is  probable  that 
my  work  originally  embodied  more  errors  of  fact  or  incident 
than  almost  any  other. 

Yet  "  The  American  Conflict  "  will  be  consulted,  at  least  by 
historians,  and  I  shall  be  judged  by  it,  after  most  of  us  now 


424  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

living  shall  have  mingled  with  the  dust.  An  eminent  an 
tagonist  of  my  political  views  has  pronounced  it  "  the  fairest 
one-sided  book  ever  written  "  ;  but  it  is  more  than  that.  It 
is  one  of  the  clearest  statements  yet  made  of  the  long  train 
of  causes  which  led  irresistibly  to  the  war  for  the  Union, 
showing  why  that  war  was  the  natural  and  righteous  conse 
quence  of  the  American  people's  general  and  guilty  compli 
city  in  the  crime  of  upholding  and  diffusing  Human  Slavery. 
I  proffer  it  as  my  contribution  toward  a  fuller  and  more  vivid 
realization  of  the  truth  that  God  governs  this  world  by  moral 
laws  as  active,  immutable,  and  all-pervading  as  can  be  opera 
tive  in  any  other,  and  that  every  collusion  or  compromise 
with  evil  must  surely  invoke  a  prompt  and  signal  retribu 
tion. 

The  sale  of  my  history  was  very  large  and  steady  down  to 
the  date  of  the  clamor  raised  touching  the  bailing  of  Jeffer 
son  Davis,  when  it  almost  ceased  for  a  season ;  thousands  who 
had  subscribed  for  it  refusing  to  take  their  copies,  to  the  sore 
disappointment  and  loss  of  the  agents,  who  had  supplied  them 
selves  with  fifty  to  a  hundred  copies  each,  in  accordance  with 
their  orders ;  and  who  thus  found  themselves  suddenly, 
and  most  unexpectedly  involved  in  serious  embarrassments. 
I  grieved  that  they  were  thus  afflicted  for  what,  at  the 
worst,  was  no  fault  of  theirs  ;  while  their  loss  by  every  copy 
thus  refused  was  twenty  times  my  own.  I  trust,  however, 
that  their  undeserved  embarrassments  were,  for  the  most 
part,  temporary,  —  that  a  juster  sense  of  what  was  due  to 
them  ultimately  prevailed,  —  that  all  of  them  who  did  not 
mistake  the  character  of  a  fitful  gust  of  popular  passion,  and 
thereupon  sacrifice  their  hard  earnings,  have  since  been  re 
lieved  from  their  embarrassments  ;  and  that  the  injury  and 
injustice  they  suffered  without  deserving  have  long  since  been 
fully  repaired.  At  all  events,  the  public  has  learned  that  I  act 
upon  my  convictions  without  fear  of  personal  consequences  ; 
hence,  any  future  paroxysm  of  popular  rage  against  me  is 
likely  to  be  less  violent,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  this  one 
proved  so  plainly  ineffectual. 


LIV. 

MY    DEAD. 

DO  not  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve,"  and  shrink 
-L    from  the  obtrusion  of  matters  purely  personal  upon  an 
indifferent  public.     I   have   aimed,  in   the  series   herewith 
closed,  to  narrate  mainly  such  facts  and  incidents  as  seemed 
likely  to  be  of  use,  either  in  strengthening  the  young  and 
portionless  for  the  battle  of  life,  or  in  commending  to  their 
acceptance  convictions  which  I  deem  sound  and  important. 
My  life  has  been  one  of  arduous,  rarely  intermitted,  labor,  — 
of  efforts  to  achieve  other  than  personal  .ends,  — of  efforts 
which  have  absorbed  most  of  the  time  which  others  freely 
devote  to  social  intercourse  and  to  fireside  enjoyments.     Of 
those  I  knew  and  loved  in  youth,  a  majority  have  already 
crossed  the  dark  river,  and  I  will  not  impose  even  their  names 
on  an  un sympathizing  world.     Among  them  is  my  fellow- 
apprentice  and  life-long  friend,  who,  after  long  illness,  died  in 
this  city  in  1861 ;  my  first  partner,  already  named,  who  was 
drowned  while  bathing  in  1832  ;  and  a  young  poet  of  promise 
who  was  slowly  yielding  to  consumption  when  the  tidings  of 
our  Bull  Pom  disaster  snapped  short  his  thread  of  life,  — as 
it  would  have  snapped  mine  had  it  been  half  so  frail  as  his. 
The  faces  of  many  among  the  departed  whom  I  have  known 
and  loved  come  back  to  me  as  I  gaze  adown  the  vista  of  my 
half-century  of  active  life ;  but  I  have  no  right  to  lift  the 
veil  which  shrouds  and  shields  their  long  repose.     I  will 
name  but  those  who  are  a  part  of  myself,  and  whose  loss  to 
earth  has  profoundly  affected  my  subsequent  career. 

Since  I  began  to  write  these  reminiscences,  my  mother's 


426  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

last  surviving  brother,  John  Woodhurn,  has  deceased,  aged 
seventy-two,  leaving  the  old  Woodburn  homestead,  I  under 
stand,  to  some  among  his  children ;  so  has  my  father's  brother, 
Isaac,  aged  eighty,  leaving,  so  far  as  I  know,  but  one  of  the 
nine  brothers  (John)  still  living.  My  father  himself  died  on  the 
18th  of  December  last,  aged  eighty-six.  He  had,  for  twelve 
years  or  more,  been  a  mere  wreck,  first  in  body  only ;  but  his 
infirmities  ultimately  affected  his  mind ;  so  that,  when  I  last 
visited  him,  a  year  before  his  death,  he  did  not  recognize  me 
till  after  he  had  sat  by  my  side  for  a  full  half-hour ;  and  he 
had  before  asked  my  oldest  sister,  "  Did  you  ever  know  Henry 
Greeley  ?"  —  alluding  to  one  of  her  sons,  then  several  years 
dead.  He  had  fitful  flashes  of  mental  recovery ;  but  he  had 
been  so  long  a  helpless  victim  of  hopeless  bodily  and  mental 
decay  that  I  did  not  grieve  when  I  learned  that  his  spirit  had 
at  length  shaken  off  the  encumbrance  of  its  mortal  coil,  which 
had  ceased  to  be  an  instrument,  and  remained  purely  an 
obstruction.  Of  his  protracted  life,  forty-two  years  had  been 
spent  in  or  on  the  verge  of  New  England,  and  forty-four 
in  his  deliberately  chosen,  steadily  retained,  Pennsylvanian 

home. 

My  son,  Arthur  Young  ("Pickie"),  born  in  March,  1844, 
was  the  third  of  seven  children,  whereof  a  son  and  daughter, 
severally  born  in  1838  and  in  1842,  scarcely  opened  their 
eyes  to  a  world  which  they  entered  but  to  leave.  Physically, 
they  were  remarkable  for  their  striking  resemblance  in  hair 
and  features  to  their  father  and  mother  respectively. 

Arthur  had  points  of  similarity  to  each  of  us,  but  with  de 
cided  superiority,  as  a  whole,  to  either.  I  looked  in  vain 
through  Italian  galleries,  two  years  after  he  was  taken  from 
us,  for  any  full  parallel  to  his  dazzling  beauty,  — a  beauty 
not  physical  merely,  but  visibly  radiating  from  the  soul.  His 
hair  was  of  the  finest  and  richest  gold ;  "  the  sunshine  of  pic 
ture  "  never  glorified  its  equal ;  and  the  delicacy  of  his  com 
plexion  at  once  fixed  the  attention  of  observers  like  the  late 
N.  P.  Willis,  who  had  traversed  both  hemispheres  without 
having  his  gaze  arrested  by  any  child  who  could  bear  a  com- 


MY  DEAD.  427 

parison  with  this  one.  Yet  he  was  not  one  of  those  paragons 
sometimes  met  with,  whose  idlest  chatter  would  edify  a  Sun 
day  school,  —  who  never  do  or  say  aught  that  propriety  would 
not  sanction  and  piety  delight  in,  —  but  thoroughly  human, 
and  endued  with  a  love  of  play  and  mischief  which  kept  him 
busy  and  happy  the  livelong  day,  while  rendering  him  the 
delight  and  admiration  of  all  around  him.  The  arch  delicacy 
wherewith  he  inquiringly  suggested,  when  once  told  a  story 
that  overtaxed  his  credulity,  "  I  'pose  that  aint  a  lie  ? "  was 
characteristic  of  his  nature.  Once,  when  about  three  years 
old,  having  chanced  to  espy  my  watch  lying  on  a  sofa  as  I 
was  dressing  one  Sunday  morning,  with  no  third  person  pres 
ent,  he  made  a  sudden  spring  of  several  feet,  caught  the 
watch  by  the  chain,  whirled  it  around  his  head,  and  sent  it 
whizzing  against  the  chimney,  shattering  its  face  into  frag 
ments.  "  Pickie,"  I  inquired,  rather  sadly  than  angrily,  "  how 
could  you  do  me  such  injury  ? "  "  'Cause  I  was  nervous,"  he 
regretfully  replied.  There  were  ladies  then  making  part  of 
our  household  whose  nerves  were  a  source  of  general  as  well 
as  personal  discomfort;  and  this  was  his  attestation  of  the 
fact. 

There  were  wiser  and  deeper  sayings  treasured  as  they  fell 
from  his  lips ;  but  I  will  not  repeat  them.  Several  yet  live 
who  remember  the  graceful  gayety  wherewith  he  charmed 
admiring  circles  assembled  at  our  house,  and  at  two  or  three 
larger  gatherings  of  friends  of  Social  Reform  in  this  city,  and 
at  the  N.  A.  Phalanx  in  New  Jersey ;  and  I  think  some  grave 
seigniors,  who  were  accustomed  to  help  us  enjoy  our  Saturday 
afternoons  in  our  rural  suburban  residence  at  Turtle  Bay, 
were  drawn  thither  as  much  by  their  admiration  of  the  son 
as  by  their  regard  for  his  parents. 

Meantime,  another  daughter  was  given  to  us,  and,  after  six 
months,  withdrawn ;  and  still  another  born,  who  yet  survives ; 
and  he  had  run  far  into  his  sixth  year  without  one  serious 
illness.  His  mother  had  devoted  herself  to  him  from  his 
birth,  even  beyond  her  intense  consecration  to  the  care  of  her 
other  children  ;  had  never  allowed  him  to  partake  of  animal 


428  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  BUSY  LIFE. 

food,  or  to  know  that  an  animal  was  ever  killed  to  be  eaten ; 
had  watched  and  tended  him  with  absorbing  love,  till  the 
perils  of  infancy  seemed  fairly  vanquished  ;  and  we  had  rea 
son  to  hope  that  the  light  of  our  eyes  would  be  spared  to 
gladden  our  remaining  years. 

It  was  otherwise  decreed.  In  the  Summer  of  1849,  the 
Asiatic  cholera  suddenly  reappeared  in  our  city,  and  the 
frightened  authorities  ordered  all  swine,  &c.,  driven  out  of 
town,  —  that  is,  above  Fortieth  Street,  —  whereas  our  home 
was  about  Forty-eighth  Street,  though  no  streets  had  yet  been 
cut  through  that  quarter.  At  once,  and  before  we  realized  our 
danger,  the  atmosphere  was  polluted  by  the  exhalations  of 
the  swinish  multitude  thrust  upon  us  from  the  densely  peo 
pled  hives  south  of  us,  and  the  cholera  claimed  its  victims 
by  scores  before  we  were  generally  aware  of  its  presence. 

Our  darling  was  among  the  first ;  attacked  at  1  A.  M.  of 
the  12th  of  July,  when  no  medical  attendance  was  at  hand  ; 
and  our  own  prompt,  unremitted  efforts,  reenforced  at  length 
by  the  best  medical  skill  within  reach,  availed  nothing  to 
stay  the  fury  of  the  epidemic,  to  which  he  succumbed  about 
5  P.  M.  of  that  day,  —  one  of  the  hottest,  as  well  as  quite  the 
longest,  I  have  ever  known.  He  was  entirely  sane  and  con 
scious  till  near  the  last;  insisting  that  he  felt  little  or  no 
pain  and  was  well,  save  that  we  kept  him  sweltering  under 
clothing  that  he  wanted  to  throw  off,  as  he  did  whenever  he 
was  permitted.  When  at  length  the  struggle  ended  with  his 
last  breath,  and  even  his  mother  was  convinced  that  his  eyes 
would  never  again  open  on  the  scenes  of  this  world,  I  knew 
that  the  Summer  of  my  life  was  over,  that  the  chill  breath 
of  its  Autumn  was  at  hand,  and  that  my  future  course  must 
be  along  the  downhill  of  life. 


Yet  another  son  (Eaphael  Uhland)  was  born  to  us  two 
years  afterward ;  who,  though  more  like  his  father  and  less 
like  a  poet  than  Arthur,  was  quite  as  deserving  of  parental 
love,  though  not  so  eminently  fitted  to  evoke  and  command 


MY  DEAD.  429 

general  admiration.  He  was  with  me  in  France  and  Switzer 
land  in  the  Summer  of  1855  ;  spending,  with  his  mother  and 
sister,  the  previous  Winter  in  London  and  that  subsequent  in 
Dresden ;  returning  with  them  in  May,  '56,  to  fall  a  victim  to 
the  croup  the  ensuing  February.  I  was  absent  on  a  lecturing 
tour  when  apprised  of  his  dangerous  illness,  and  hastened 
home  to  find  that  he  had  died  an  hour  before  my  arrival, 
though  he  had  hoped  and  striven  to  await  my  return.  He 
had  fulfilled  his  sixth  year  and  twelve  days  over  when  our 
home  was  again  made  desolate  by  his  death. 

Another  daughter  was  born  to  us  four  weeks  later,  who 
survives ;  so  that  we  have  reason  to  be  grateful  for  two  chil 
dren  left  to  soothe  our  decline,  as  wTell  as  for  five  who,  having 
preceded  us  on  the  long  journey,  await  us  in  the  Land  of 
Souls. 

My  life  has  been  busy  and  anxious,  but  not  joyless. 
Whether  it  shall  be  prolonged  few  or  more  years,  I  am  grate 
ful  that  it  has  endured  so  long,  and  that  it  has  abounded  in 
opportunities  for  good  not  wholly  unimproved,  and  in  experi 
ences  of  the  nobler  as  well  as  the  baser  impulses  of  human 
nature.  I  have  been  spared  to  see  the  end  of  giant  wrongs, 
which  I  once  deemed  invincible  in  this  century,  and  to  note 
the  silent  upspringing  and  growth  of  principles  and  influen 
ces  which  I  hail  as  destined  to  root  out  some  of  the  most  fla 
grant  and  pervading  evils  that  yet  remain.  I  realize  that 
each  generation  is  destined  to  confront  new  and  peculiar  per 
ils,  —  to  wrestle  with  temptations  and  seductions  unknown  to 
its  predecessors ;  yet  I  trust  that  progress  is  a  general  law  of 
our  being,  and  that  the  ills  and  woes  of  the  future  shall  be 
less  crushing  than  those  of  the  bloody  and  hateful  past.  So, 
looking  calmly,  yet  humbly,  for  that  close  of  my  mortal 
career  which  cannot  be  far  distant,  I  reverently  thank  God 
for  the  blessings  vouchsafed  me  in  the  past;  and,  with  an 
awe  that  is  not  fear,  and  a  consciousness  of  demerit  which 
does  not  exclude  hope,  await  the  opening  before  my  steps  of 
the  gates  of  the  Eternal  World. 


MISCELLANIES. 


LITERATURE  AS  A  VOCATION. 


THE  world  is  a  seminary;  Man  is  our  class-book;  and 
the  chief  business  of  life  is  Education.  We  are  here  to 
learn  and  to  teach,  —  some  of  us  for  both  of  these  purposes,  — 
all  at  least  for  the  former.  Happy  he,  and  greatly  blest,  who 
comes  divinely  qualified  for  a  Teacher,  — fitted  by  nature  and 
training  to  wrestle  with  giant  Ignorance  and  primal  Chaos, 
to  dispel  unfounded  Prejudice,  and  banish  enshrouding  Night. 
To  govern  men,  in  the  rude,  palpable  sense,  is  a  small  achieve 
ment  ;  a  grovelling,  purblind  soul,  well  provided  with  horse 
men  and  artillery,  and  thickly  hedged  with  bayonets  and 
spears,  may  do  this.  Nero  ruled  the  Eoman  world  at  the 
height  of  its  power  and  glory,  and  ruled  it  so  sternly  that  no 
man  dared  speak  of  him,  while  he  lived,  save  in  the  language 
of  abject  flattery.  Caligula  did  it  likewise;  and  so,  in  an 
uncouth,  second-hand,  deputizing  way,  did  (or  might  have 
done)  Caligula's  horse ;  but  which  of  these,  think  you,  could 
have  instructed  the  millions  he  so  sternly  swayed?  Alaric 
had  no  difficulty  in  cutting  off  ten-score  thousand  heads ;  but 
he  leaves  to  our  own  Everett  the  writing  of  the  poem  wherein 
the  nature  of  his  exploits  is  duly  celebrated.  Had  he  been 
obliged  to  slice  off  as  many  more  heads,  or  write  such  a  poem, 
he  would  have  chosen  the  former  task  without  hesitation  or 
self-distrust. 

The  true  king,  then,  —  the  man  who  can,  —  from  which 

root  I  would  derive  also  ken  and  cunning,  —  is  he  who  sways 

the  mighty  realm  of  Thought;   whose  achievements  mimic 

those  of  the  Infinite  Father  by  building  out  into  void  space, 

28 


434  MISCELLANIES. 

and  peopling  Chaos  with  living  and  beneficent,  though  bodi 
less,  creations.  Who  knows  or  cares  what  was  the  name  of 
Homer's  temporal  sovereign  ?  The  world  could  not  spare 
Cicero's  Orations,  but  what  recks  it  of  his  consulate  ?  George 
III.  ruled  respectably  a  mighty  realm  through  the  most  mem 
orable  half-century  in  the  history  of  man ;  yet  his  age  will  be 
known  to  remote  posterity,  not  as  his  by  any  means,  nor  even 
as  that  of  Napoleon  or  Wellington,  but  as  that  of  Goethe, 
Wordsworth,  and  Byron.  Bonaparte  himself  was  a  reality 
and  no  sham :  yet  he  missed  his  best  chance  of  earthly  im 
mortality  when  he  allowed  Fulton  to  leave  France  with  the 
steamboat  still  in  his  brain.  The  burning  of  Moscow  was 
unlucky  for  the  conqueror  of  Austerlitz ;  but  this  non-com 
prehension  of  our  great  countryman  was  a  betrayal  of  inca 
pacity,  —  a  downright  discomfiture,  of  which  no  Grouchy  can 
be  made  the  scapegoat. 

Inevitable,  then,  is  it,  and  by  no  means  to  be  lamented,  that, 
in  an  age  so  eventful  and  stirring  as  ours,  an  innumerable 
multitude  should  aspire  to  Write,  —  that  is,  to  Teach.  Nay, 
it  is  greatly  to  be  desired,  and  every  way  to  be  encouraged,  that 
the  largest  possible  number  should  aspire  to  sing  and  shine  as 
enlighteners  and  monitors  of  their  fellow-beings.  Brother  in 
the  tow  frock  and  ragged  unthinkables  !  have  you  an  idea  hum 
ming  in  your  brain,  that  seems  to  you  fitted  to  cure  even  the 
lightest  of  human  maladies  ?  Out  with  it,  I  pray  you,  in 
mercy  to  a  benighted,  heart-sick,  and  blindly  suffering  race ! 
Sister  in  linsey-woolsey,  and  wearing  a  red-cotton  handker 
chief  by  way  of  diadem,  have  you  aught  to  say,  that,  if  uttered, 
would  cheer  and  bless  the  weary  steps  whereby  we  are  all 
measuring  off  the  little  span  which  divides  us  from  the  grave  ? 
For  sweet  Charity's  sake,  do  not  withhold  it,  but  let  your 
light  shine,  even  though  the  darkness  be  sure  not  to  compre 
hend  it,  —  a  by  no  means  novel  nor  uncommon  case.  Heed 
not  the  croaker's  warning  that  the  world  overflows  with  books 
and  authors,  —  so  it  did  in  Solomon's  time  ;  yet  how  many 
very  good  ones,  that  mankind  could  hardly  spare,  have  been 
written  since !  Truly,  the  universe  is  full  of  light,  and  has 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  435 

been  these  thousands  of  years ;  yet,  for  all  that,  we  could  not 
dispense  with  the  sunshine  of  to-morrow,  whether  as  a  reali 
zation  or  as  an  assuring  prediction.  Never  believe  those  who 
tell  you  that  our  Eace  are  surfeited  with  teachers,  —  that 
their  present  needs  are  material  only,  not  spiritual,  —  and 
that  your  humble  lay  will  be  drowned  by  the  crashing  volume 
of  the  world's  great  choral  harmonies,  —  for  if  you  have  some 
thing  to  say,  and  do  really  say  it,  never  doubt  that  it  will  find 
or  make  its  way  to  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  those  fitted  to  ap 
preciate  and  enjoy  it. 

But  the  real  perplexity,  the  one  great  source  of  disappoint 
ment  and  mortification  in  the  premises,  is  this,  —  Of  the 
legions  who  aspire  to  teach  and  sing,  only  a  very  small  pro 
portion  do  so  from  any  hearty,  intrinsic,  essential  love  of  the 
work,  while  the  great  multitude  seek  primarily  and  mainly 
their  own  glory  or  aggrandizement,  rather  than  the  good  of 
their  kind.  They  aspire  to  be  teachers,  not  because  the  world 
needs  to  be  taught,  but  because  they  must  somehow  be  fed. 
Minim's  "  lays  "  are  inspired  by  his  laziness,  and  not  by  any 
of  the  Muses,  who  would  be  tortured  by  his  invocations  if 
they  paid  any  sort  of  heed  to  his  twanging.  Crotchet's  trea 
tise  on  Hydraulics  and  Dynamics  was  impelled  by  the  vacuum 
in  his  own  stomach,  rather  than  by  any  painful  sense  of 
deficiency  or  error  in  popular  conceptions  of  natural  science. 
Van  Eoamer's  "  Travels  "  were  constrained  by  the  stern  alter 
native  of  quitting  his  native  soil  or  cultivating  it;  he  is 
enabled  to  tell  us  how  the  Camanches  grow  corn,  or  the 
Mohaves  harvest  beans,  through  his  own  invincible  repug 
nance  to  assisting  in  either  process  at  home.  And  thus  the 
domain  of  letters  is  continually  infested,  is  wellnigh  overrun, 
by  a  swarm  of  adventurers  who  are  only  intellectual  in  their 
pursuits  and  tendencies  because  they  dread  being,  arid  so 
have  not  fitted  themselves  to  be,  material,  —  as  Talleyrand 
accounted  all  men  Military  who  were  not  Civil.  Hence,  the 
patient  earth  groans  beneath  the  weight  of  books  written 
from  as  grovelling  a  motive  as  ever  sent  a  truant  whimpering 
to  school,  and  the  moon  and  stars  are  persecuted  with  flatulent 


436  MISCELLANIES. 

apostrophes  and  impertinent  staring  by  bards  whose  main 
incitement  to  thus  tormenting  the  night  is  a  constitutional 
abhorrence  of  getting  up  and  swinging  an  axe  in  the  morning. 

It  is  high  time  the  current  cant  affirming  the  misfortunes 
of  authorship,  "calamities  of  genius,"  the  miserable  recom 
pense  of  intellectual  effort,  &c.,  were  scouted  from  the  earth. 
Its  groundwork  is  a  total  misconception  of  the  relations  of 
things  intellectual  to  tilings  physical,  —  of  Mind  to  Matter, 
Time  to  Eternity.  Milton,  they  say,  sold  Paradise  Lost  for 
ten  pounds  to  its  original  publisher,  Mr.  Simmons.  Begging 
your  pardon,  gentlemen,  he  did  no  such  thing;  if  he  had 
done,  the  mighty  epic  would  have  henceforth  been  Sivimons's 
Paradise  Lost,  no  longer  Milton's.  No  such  poem  was  ever 
written  for  pounds,  few  or  many,  nor  ever  can  be.  The 
author  sold  only  the  privilege  of  multiplying  copies  for  the 
few  years  wherein  his  right  of  property  in  his  work  was  pro 
tected  by  law  ;  but  the  poem  was  still  Milton's,  and  so  must 
remain  while  Time  shall  endure.  Trade  and  Law  are  mighty 
in  their  several  spheres ;  but  both  together  are  powerless  to 
vest  the  proper  ownership  of  Paradise  Lost  in  anybody  else 
than  John  Milton. 

I  am  not  palliating  the  injustice  done  to  authors  by  our 
laws  of  Copyright ;  they  are  indeed  gross  and  indefensible. 
Their  original  sin  inheres  in  their  attempt  to  draw  a  distinc 
tion  where  the  laws  of  the  Universe  make  none,  —  between 
Property  in  the  creations  of  the  Brain  and  in  those  of  the 
Hands.  The  distinction  is  at  best  imperfect.  *  A  poem,  as  given 
by  the  author  to  the  press,  is  the  joint  production  of  intellect 
and  muscles,  —  so  is  a  plough  or  a  boot-jack.  The  difference 
is  one  of  proportion  only,  —  in  the  poem,  the  labor  of  Produc 
tion  is  mainly  brain-work ;  the  reverse  is  the  case  with  the 
plough.  The  poet's  work,  as  poet,  is  one  of  creation  purely, 
so  far  as  finite  beings  can  create ;  while  the  mechanic's 
achievement  is  one  of  accommodation  or  shaping  merely. 
No  man.  ever  made,  no  man  can  make,  a  flour-barrel  so  thor 
oughly  his  as  Childe  Harold  was  and  is  Byron's.  On  what 
principle,  then,  do  human  laws  say  that  the  flour-barrel  be- 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  437 

longs  to  the  maker,  his  heirs  or  assigns,  so  long  as  it  shall 
exist,  and  wherever  it  may  be  found,  but  that  Childe  Harold 
was  Byron's  property  only  within  a  narrow  territorial  radius 
and  for  a  brief  term  of  years  ?  Clearly,  on  no  principle  at  all. 
The  law  plunders  the  author  while  pretending  to  protect  him. 
It  ought  to  know  nothing  of  Copyright  save  to  require  the 
author  to  give  fair  notice  that  he  regards  his  production  as  a 
property,  and  forbids  the  multiplication  of  copies  by  any  other 
than  a  publisher  expressly  authorized  by  him.  Then,  if  it 
were  deemed  expedient  to  confiscate  the  author's  right  of 
property,  at  the  expiration  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  from 
the  date  of  his  work's  first  appearance,  he  ought  to  be  fairly 
compensated  for  his  book,  if  the  demand  for  it  were  still 
active,  so  as  to  justify  a  claim  to  indemnity  on  the  part  of  his 
heirs. 

The  Law  of  Copyright  is  pernicious  in  all  its  restrictions 
on  the  natural  right  of  property,  —  wrong  in  denying  that 
right  in  one  country  to  the  citizen  of  another,  and  thereby 
bribing  the  author  to  pander  to  local  and  provincial  prejudices, 
instead  of  speaking  to  all  Humanity.  A  book  which  finds 
readers  in  all  or  many  lands  is  presumptively  worth  far  more 
than  one  which  finds  admirers  only  in  the  country  which 
produced  it.  This  law  is  doubly  wrong  in  virtually  saying  to 
the  author,  "  Cater  to  the  prejudices,  the  follies,  the  passions 
of  the  hour ;  for  the  approval  of  future  generations  may 
indeed  pile  marble  above  your  unconscious  dust,  but  will 
give  no  bread  to  your  famishing  offspring  ! "  It  is  very  true 
that  the  pecuniary  recompense  is  not  the  main  impulse  to 
the  production  of  works  which  the  world  does  not  willingly 
let  die ;  but  the  State  has  no  moral  right  to  rob  a  man  merely 
because  he  leaves  his  doors  unlocked.  It  is  bound  to  render 
to  each  his  due ;  and  it  sets  an  evil  example  in  divesting  any 
of  what  is  rightfully  his  own. 

But,  to  ninety-nine  of  every  hundred  literary  aspirants,  it 
makes  no  difference  practically  whether  the  copyright  ac 
corded  to  their  works  is  or  is  not  limited  both  in  time  and 
space.  Out  of  every  hundred  books  published,  not  ten  are 


438  MISCELLANIES. 

ever  read  out  of  the  country  which  produced  them ;  hardly 
one  will  be  heard  of  by  the  author's  own  grandchildren. 
"  Come  like  shadows,  so  depart,"  is  the  motto  that  would  fit- 
liest  illustrate  the  title-page  of  our  booksellers'  annual  cata 
logues  of  their  new  issues.  Like  an  April  snow-shower,  they 
are  poured  upon  us  till  they  threaten  to  cover,  if  not  trans 
form,  the  earth ;  but  soon  the  sun  shines  out,  and,  the  next 
hour,  they  have  vanished  forever. 

Now,  while  it  is  quite  true  that  Milton  did  not  write  Para 
dise  Lost  for  Mr.  Simmons' s  ten  pounds,  nor  for  any  number 
of  anybody's  pounds,  it  is  none  the  less  certain  that  the  State 
has  no  moral  right  to  bribe  its  authors  to  strive  for  momen 
tary  popularity  rather  than  enduring  regard.  It  has  no  moral 
right  to  say  to  them,  "Write  skilfully  on  a  level  with  the. 
passions  and  prejudices  of  the  day,  and  you  shall  have 
wealth  and  present  fame ;  but,  if  you  write  what  the  vicinage 
may  condemn,  yet  what  the  Ages  and  the  Eace  must  approve 
and  embalm,  you  shall  be  punished  with  poverty  for  yourself 
and  beggary  for  your  children."  That  "  ye  cannot  serve  God 
and  Mammon"  was  true  enough  in  the  nature  of  things, 
before  the  State  undertook  to  aggravate,  as  against  Mammon's 
despisers,  the  severity  of  the  sentence  and  the  intensity  of 
the  punishment. 

The  World  of  Thought !  how  vast  its  extent !  how  ma 
jestic  its  triumphs  !  I  am  not  surprised  that  literary  fame  is 
the  object  of  such  general  aspiration ;  I  should  be  surprised 
indeed  if  it  were  otherwise.  Just  consider  how  potent,  how 
vast,  is  the  sway  to-day  exercised  by  Plato,  and  Virgil,  and 
Tacitus,  now  so  many  centuries  in  their  graves,  and  compare 
it  with  the  narrow,  transient,  imperfect  dominion  of  Alexan 
der  or  Augustus,  so  omnipotent  in  his  own  age  and  sphere,  so 
impotent  elsewhere,  and  ever  after.  Xenophon  the  leader 
has  long  been  undistinguishable  dust,  while  Xenophon  the 
narrator  is  still  in  the  zenith  of  his  power  and  renown.  Ju 
lius  Ca3sar  holds  his  place  in  the  world's  regard  far  more  by 
means  of  his  Commentaries  than  of  his  victories,  and  Bona 
parte's  first  campaign  electrified  Europe  not  more  by  his  bat- 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  439 

ties  than  his  bulletins.  We  cannot  wonder,  then,  that  men 
have  sacrificed  ease  and  pleasure,  youth  and  strength,  grace 
of  motion  and  power  of  vision,  to  win  a  name  among  those 
who  worthily  wielded  that  "weapon  mightier  than  the 
sword" ;  for,  indeed,  there  is  no  other  field  of  effort,  no  other 
arena  for  ambition,  so  inviting,  so  dazzling,  as  this.  Wolfe 
on  the  Heights  of  Abraham  admiringly  recited  Gray's  Elegy, 
and  declared  that  he  would  rather  be  its  author  than  the  con 
queror  of  Montcalm  and  Canada.  "All  for  love  and  the 
world  well  lost,"  is  the  surrender  of  the  grandest  possibilities 
to  a  fleeting  delirium  of  the  senses ;  but  well  might  the  con 
queror  of  an  empire,  the  heir  of  a  dynasty,  exchange  his  cir 
cumscribed  and  vanishing  dominion  for  a  seat  among  the 
Kings  of  Mind,  —  the  rulers  of  that  World  of  Ideas,  whose 
sway  each  year  expands  and  strengthens,  though  their  bones 
have  enriched,  centuries  ago,  the  soil  with  which  they  wres 
tled  for  a  meagre  subsistence  as  Homer  the  mendicant  or 
^Esop  the  slave. 

But  have  the  true  Kings  of  Thought  in  fact  realized  their 
own  might,  and  actually  aspired  to  and  struggled  for  the  pre 
eminence  which  Mankind  has  so  cordially  assigned  them  ? 
Did  Shakespeare,  for  instance,  know  himself  the  intellectual 
prodigy  he  truly  was,  and  apprehend  that  the  lines  he  dashed 
off  with  such  facile  rapidity  would  be  read  in  delighted  awe 
and  wonder  on  isles  of  the  Southern  main,  far  beyond  the 
African  cape,  which  in  his  day  bounded  in  that  direction  the 
known  world  ?  I  find  in  his  writings  the  presence  of  amazing 
power,  but  not  the  consciousness  of  it.  Nay :  I  cannot  help 
suspecting  that,  had  he  really  known  how  great  a  man  he 
was  and  is,  he  would  have  refrained  from  acting  and  talking 
so  often  like  a  little  one.  The  world  has  known  men  who 
profoundly  esteemed  themselves  great,  and  justified  that  con 
sciousness  by  every  act  of  their  lives.  I  could  not  have  dared 
to  ask  Michael  Angelo  to  build  me  a  tavern-stable  out  of  the 
crumbling  walls  of  a  deserted  monastery  or  fortress  ;  I  should 
have  cowered  before  the  glance  of  his  eye  as  he  turned  upon 
me  with  the  question,  "  Do  you  think  I  was  sent  into  the 


440  MISCELLANIES. 

world  to  build  stables  ? "  Yet  I  would  not  have  hesitated  — 
would  you  ?  —  to  ask  Shakespeare  to  write  me,  for  a  considera 
tion,  an  epithalamium,  a  monody,  a  pasquinade,  an  epigram ; 
and  should  not  have  feared  rebuke  or  refusal,  if  the  price  named 
were  sufficient.  For  I  see  the  man  working  and  delving  from 
day  to  day  like  any  journeyman  among  us,  —  with  immense 
courage,  certainly,  and  capacity,  and  consciousness  of  power, 
—  but  still  working  up  the  ordinary  play-house  rubbish  into 
his  grand,  airy  new  structure,  as  any  skilful  mason  might  fill 
up  the  centre  of  his  wall  with  the  commonest  brickbats,  until 
the  difference  between  him  and  other  playwrights  seems  one 
of  degree  purely,  and  not  of  kind.  But,  reading  him  thought 
fully,  I  am  arrested  by  passage  after  passage  evincing  an 
almost  Divine  faculty,  —  a  faculty  in  which  I  discern  nothing 
of  the  playwright,  but  rather  the  inspiration  of  the  soul-rapt 
prophet,  who  looks  straight  through  all  things ;  for  to  him  the 
universe  is  without  opacity,  and  past,  present,  and  future  are 
mere  lines  of  demarcation  across  the  great  plain  lying  lucid 
and  level  before  him.  This  man's  nature  is  a  riddle  which  I, 
very  palpably,  cannot  read ;  so  I  turn  away,  perplexed  and 
overmastered,  to  resume  the  thread  of  my  discussion.  If  he 
were  always  unapproachable,  I  could  comprehend,  though  I 
might  not  accurately  measure  him ;  if  he  were  only  a  clever 
play-house  poet,  I  could  more  easily  and  surely  estimate  him  ; 
but  his  starry  flights  and  his  paltry  jokes  —  his  celestial  pene 
tration  and  his  contemptible  puns  —  form  together  a  riddle 
entirely  too  hard  for  me.  I  read  him  ;  I  admire  him  ;  but  I 
do  not  know  him ;  and  all  the  commentators  and  critics  serve 
only  to  render  darkness  more  visible,  —  my  darkness,  I  freely 
admit ;  but  is  it  not  also  in  some  part  their  own  ? 

The  great  soul  like  Milton's,  finding  utterance  through 
Authorship  because  utterance  is  a  necessity  of  its  being,  and 
because  it  feels  impelled  benignly  to  assure  its  weaker,  more 
opaque  brethren,  that  evil  is  phenomenal  and  transitory,  —  the 
murky  exhalation  of  a  chill  night,  which  heaven's  sunshine 
will  in  due  time  dissipate,  —  for  this  I  take  to  be  the  burden 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  441 

of  all  true  Literature,  as  of  true  Prophecy,  —  this  is,  to  my 
eye,  the  grandest,  noblest  spectacle  beheld  on  earth.  But  the 
literary  hack  also,  —  whereof  I  hold  Shakespeare  to  be  the 
highest  type  yet  revealed  to  us,  —  perhaps  the  highest  ever 
to  be  seen,  —  he  who,  finding  authorship  to  be  the  work 
directly  in  his  way,  takes  hold  of  it  and  does  it,  heartily,  man 
fully,  capitally,  witli  all  his  might,  as  he  would  do  anything 
else  that  thus  planted  itself  across  his  path ;  always  evincing 
talent,  energy,  resolution;  sometimes  irradiating  these  with 
the  celestial  fire  of  genius  —  he,  too,  is  at  least  a  respectable 
personage ;  and  contemplating  him  shall  give  us  added  strength 
and  vivacity  for  the  discharge  of  our  own  duties,  whatsoever 
they  be.  But  the  literary  mendicant,  —  the  aspirant  to  live 
by  literature,  while  literature  begs  to  be  excused  from  his 
obsequious  and  superserviceable  attentions,  —  of  him  and  his 
works  be  the  heavens  mercifully  oblivious,  be  the  earth  com 
passionately  delivered !  He  is  just  the  sorriest  sight  the  sun 
looks  down  upon,  and  fills  us  with  the  dismalest  conceptions 
of  the  lower  possibilities  of  human  infirmity. 

Do  but  contemplate  him,  at  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty 
years  of  age,  —  a  hale,  stout,  broad-shouldered  man,  with 
thews  that  might  chop  cord-wood  or  do  some  other  creditable 
service  to  his  kind,  —  at  all  events,  with  fingers  terminating 
either  fore-arm  that  would  answer  for  gathering  apples  or 
picking  up  potatoes,  —  to  see  him,  thus  generously  furnished, 
insisting  on  Authorship  as  his  vocation,  when  nobody  wants 
to  hear  or  read  him,  —  wandering  from  publisher  to  publisher 
to  petition  for  the  printing  of  his  poem  or  novel,  or  besieging 
editor  after  editor  for  employment  on  his  journal,  —  this  is  a 
spectacle  of  human  degradation  which  angels  may  well  weep 
over.  And  then  to  hear  him  talk  of  the  Calamities  of  Gen 
ius  !  —  he  whose  chief  calamity  is,  manifestly,  a  total  lack  of 
genius,  and  not  of  genius  merely,  but  of  self-respect,  energy, 
or  manhood.  Had  he  but  one  spark  of  true  genius,  it  would 
develop  in  him  a  healthful,  proper  pride,  whereof  the  first 
dictate  would  be  a  revolt  against  such  hawking  and  auction 
eering  of  his  Diviner  faculties.  "  No,"  he  would  say,  "  I  need 


442  MISCELLANIES. 

bread,  and  am  not  ashamed  to  solicit  the  privilege  of  earning 
it  by  such  means  as  naturally  bring  bread,  —  by  hireling 
labor  in  the  corn-field,  the  meadow,  the  ditch,  or  the  mine ; 
for  that  is  the  natural  resort  of  all  those  who  have  no  estate 
of  their  own.  I  can  proudly  ask  my  neighbor  to  let  me  saw 
his  wood  for  a  dinner,  since  such  is  the  obvious  way  of  earn 
ing  dinners,  and  sawed  wood  ministers  to  a  physical  necessity 
akin  to  my  urgent  need  of  victual ;  but  to  ask  any  man  to 
give  me  a  dinner  or  a  dollar  for  a  poem  or  essay  which  he 
never  asked  me  to  write,  —  to  beg  of  him  an  exchange  of  his 
bread  for  my  thoughts,  my  ideas,  —  this  I  cannot  stoop  to  do. 
If  my  book  be  printed,  either  with  my  own  means  or  those  of 
a  publisher  who  believes  it  will  do,  let  any  man  buy  it  and 
pay  for  it  who  will;  but,  if  I  urgently  want  bread,  let  me 
produce  something  which  is  bread's  natural  equivalent,  or  let 
me  beg  it,  if  reduced  to  that  dire  extremity,  in  the  direct, 
honest  way ;  but  to  degrade  my  faculty  of  uttering  thoughts, 
such  as  they  are,  into  a  means  of  indirect  beggary,  that  low 
est  deep  of  humiliation,  I  cannot,  dare  not,  descend  to." 

Perhaps  there  is  not  in  all  Literature  any  monument  of 
human  perversity  and  self-exposure  more  emphatic  than  the 
grand  chorus  of  complaint  and  remonstrance  which  every 
year  forces  its  way  through  some  muddy  channel  or  other  to 
the  public  ear,  of  which  the  burden  is  the  stolidity,  incapaci 
ty  and  niggardliness  of  publishers,  in  not  discerning  unrecog 
nized  merit  in  the  works  of  young  or  unknown  authors,  buy 
ing  their  manuscripts  at  a  generous  price,  and  introducing 
them,  with  appropriate  ceremonies,  to  the  reading  public. 
There  are  never  less  than  thousands  of  these  unprinted  au 
thors,  whose  fame  is  yet  in  the  egg,  but  who  fancy  that  they 
need  only  a  spirited  and  appreciating  publisher  to  cause  it  to 
chip  the  shell  and  soar  away  on  eagles'  wings  to  immortality. 
Every  year,  some  hundreds  of  fresh  aspirants  to  literary  dis 
tinction  contrive  to  overleap  the  hated  barrier  and  rush  into 
print ;  when  perhaps  the  books  of  ten  of  them  repay  the  cost 
of  the  adventure ;  two  or  three  are  encouraged  to  try  again ; 
and  possibly  one  proves  a  man  of  mark,  wins  popular  appro- 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  443 

bation,  and  is  ever  after  solicited  by  publishers,  instead  of 
needing  to  solicit  their  partiality  and  favor.  But  it  was  not 
by  this  one,  nor  yet  by  the  two  or  three,  that  the  howl  was 
prolonged  as  to  the  obtuseness  and  rapacity  of  publishers,  — 
their  drinking  rare  wines  out  of  the  skulls  of  their  plundered, 
starving  authors,  &c.,  &c.  No :  it  is  from  the  ranks  of  the 
great  unpublished,  or,  if  published,  unread,  that  this  hideous 
dissonance  goes  up,  —  men  who,  far  from  being  victims  of 
publishers,  have  victimized  them,  and  will  do  it  again  when 
ever  they  shall  induce  one  to  bring  out  another  of  their 
dreary  inanities.  All  the  wine  that  will  ever  be  made  by 
publishers  out  of  these  plaintive  gentlemen's  productions 
might  be  drank  out  of  their  own  skulls,  while  they  are  yet 
living,  and  leave  abundant  room  therein  for  all  the  brains 
they  have  to  fulfil  their  ordinary  functions  undisturbed  and 
unstimulated. 

Authors  of  this  stamp  rarely  consider  that  not  creditable 
writing  only,  but  true  publishing  also,  is  an  intellectual  voca 
tion,  —  that  as  much  ability  is  often  evinced  in  bringing  out 
and  selling  a  boqk  as  in  writing  it.  Publishing  is  a  pursuit 
requiring  various  talents,  ripe  scholarship,  large  capital,  and 
rare  sagacity.  Of  original  publications,  but  a  small  portion 
prove  profitable,  while  the  great  majority  involve  positive 
loss.  The  instances  of  undeserved  or  inordinate  success  in 
publishing  are  quite  as  rare  as  in  authorship. 

And  you,  my  unfledged  bard  !  who  croak  over  the  stupidity 
of  publishers,  and  the  indifference  of  the  reading  class  to 
unlaurelled  merit,  out  of  your  own  mouth  shall  you  be  con 
demned  !  You  complain  that  others  are  deaf  and  blind  to 
such  merit ;  yet  you  are  not  one  whit  less  so  yourself !  You, 
Mr.  Epaphroditus  Sheepshanks,  who  grumble  that  Thackeray 
or  Tennyson  is  read,  yet  your  novel  or  poem  untouched,  —  is 
tacitly  condemned  by  thousands  who  cannot  know  that  it  is 
not  excellent,  —  do  you  buy  or  read  the  novels  of  Snooks  or 
the  poems  of  Pettibone,  in  preference  to  those  of  the  great 
celebrities  of  our  day  ?  You  know  well  that  you  do  no  such 
thing,  —  that  you  have  never  looked  through  them,  have 


444  MISCELLANIES. 

scarcely  given  them  a  thought.  You  say,  very  naturally, 
"  They  may  be  good ;  but  my  time  for  reading  is  limited ;  and 
I  choose  to  devote  it  first  to  those  whose  works  I  have  already 
some  reason  to  know  are  good.  Snooks  and  Pettibone  may  be 
clever  fellows,  I  dare  say  they  are,  but  they  must  await 
a  more  convenient  season."  And  in  this  you  talk  and  act 
sensibly ;  quite  otherwise  when  you  grumble  that  more  would- 
be  authors  do  not  succeed  in  getting  printed,  and  that  those 
who  do  fail  to  extract  more  money  as  copyright  from  pub 
lishers  in  addition  to  that  which  they  have  already  squandered 
in  paper,  typography,  and  binding. 

True,  there  appear  at  long  intervals  men  decidedly  in  ad 
vance  of  their  time,  —  who  come  to  their  own,  and  are  not 
recognized  and  made  welcome,  —  who  write,  like  Wordsworth 
or  Emerson,  for  a  public  which  their  genius  must  create  or 
their  patience  await,  —  authors  whose  works  would  sell  better 
if  they  were  less  profoundly  good.  But  this  class  accept  their 
fortune  unmurmuringly,  and  never  repine  over  their  inability 
to  serve  at  once  God  and  Mammon,  and  so  grasp  the  rewards 
of  both  Time  and  Eternity.  They  do  their  own  work  calmly, 
uncomplainingly,  almost  unconsciously,  like  the  stars  and  the 
mountains,  and  are  content  to  gladden  and  bless  as  they  may, 
without  striking  for  an  advance  of  wages.  They  know,  with 
out  seeking  it,  that  their  message  of  good-will  finds  its  way  to 
the  hearts  fitted  to  receive  and  assimilate  it ;  they  would  be 
amazed  by  an  intimation  that  their  efforts  were  unappreciated 
and  unrewarded.  Not  laboring  mainly  for  popularity  or  pelf, 
they  cannot  regard  the  absence  of  both  as  an  evidence  that 
their  effort  is  defeated  and  their  labor  in  vain. 

"But,"  says  an  ingenuous  youth,  "I  aspire  to  eminence, 
fame,  popularity,  —  nay,  sir,  to  usefulness,  —  as  an  author; 
which,  I  trust,  is  no  ignoble  aspiration.  Then  why  may  I 
not  seek  to  sell  the  fruits  of  my  intellectual  efforts  in  order  to 
cultivate  and  improve  my  faculties,  and  qualify  me  for  the 
career  I  meditate  ?  Why  may  I  not  seek  to  sell  the  poem  or 
story  I  wrote  yesterday,  in  order  to  win  me  bread  and  oppor 
tunity  to  write  a  better  one  to-morrow  ? "  The  question  is  a 
fair  one,  and  shall  be  fairly  answered. 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  445 

The  ever-present  and  fearful  peril  of  the  Literary  vocation 
is  compliance,  —  the  sacrifice  of  the  eternal  verity  to  the  tem 
porary  necessity.  To  write  to-day  for  to-day's  bread  involves 
the  necessity  of  writing  what  to-day  will  appreciate,  accept, 
and  buy.  This  is  to  set  your  faculty  of  thought  and  utter 
ance  up  at  auction  to  the  best  cash  bidder,  agreeing  to  do 
whatever  Divine  or  diabolic  work  he  may  have  in  hand; 
and  it  is  most  unlikely  that  he  who  bids  highest  in  current 
coin  for  to-day's  work,  payable  to-night,  will  have  Divine 
work  for  you  to  do.  Of  course,  it  is  understood  that  you 
do  not  directly  sell  yourself  to  whomsoever  will  pay  highest ; 
but  that  is  the  palpable  tendency  of  going  needily  into  the 
market  to  barter  brains  for  bread.  You  cannot  afford  to  be 
nice  respecting  the  use  to  which  your  mental  faculties  are  to 
be  turned,  if  you  must  sell  them  to-day,  or  go  hungry  to-mor 
row.  The  natural  drift,  therefore,  of  sending  your  head  into 
the  market  for  sale  is  toward  moral  indifference  and  debase 
ment, —  toward  the  sale  of  your  talents  for  the  most  they 
will  fetch,  without  regard  to  what  use  they  will  be  required  to 
subserve.  This  tendency  may  be  resisted,  baffled,  overborne ; 
but  it  can  never  cease  to  be  a  reality  and  a  peril.  Sensual 
appetite  is  always  ready  to  pay  generously  for  a  present  grati 
fication  ;  while  Virtue  is  constitutionally  austere  and  provi 
dent.  And,  beside,  there  is  a  very  great  mistake  widely  preva 
lent  which  confounds  the  continual  use  with  the  improve 
ment  of  the  faculties  essential  to  Authorship ;  whereas,  use  is 
as  often  exhausting  as  strengthening.  Washington,  Bona 
parte,  Byron,  Wellington,  —  in  fact,  nearly  all  the  great  men 
of  the  last  age,  —  evinced  qualities  as  admirable  and  eminent 
in  the  outset  as  in  the  maturity  of  their  several  careers.  Their 
opportunities,  their  responsibilities,  may  have  afterward  been 
broader ;  but  Washington  on  Braddock's  fatal  field,  Bonaparte 
in  Italy,  Byron  in  Childe  Harold,  Wellington  in  India,  while 
still  young  men,  evinced  the  great  qualities  which  have  ren 
dered  their  names  immortal.  They  there  gave  promise  of  all 
that  they  afterward  performed.  If  such  qualities  inhere  in 
you,  they  will  find  or  make  their  way  out ;  if  they  do  not, 


446  MISCELLANIES. 

you  cannot  create  them  by  years  of  imitative,  mechanical 
drudgery  as  a  journeyman  in  the  vocation  you  are  anxious 
to  master. 

I  would  say,  then,  to  aspiring  young  men :  "  While  you 
seek  the  ladder  that  leads  up  to  renown,  preserve,  as  above  all 
price,  your  proper  independence,  mental  and  physical.  Never 
surrender  yourself  to  what  is  termed  an  intellectual  vocation 
until  you  have  first  laid  the  foundations  of  independence  in 
the  knowledge  of  a  good  trade  or  handicraft,  to  fall  back  on 
whenever  you  shall  find  yourself  unable  to  maintain  at  once 
your  position  as  a  brain-worker  and  your  perfect  self-respect. 
Take  your  place  in  the  field  or  the  shop,  and  make  yourself 
master  of  its  duties,  —  fasten  yourself  to  some  patch  of  ground 
on  some  slope  of  the  Alleghanies,  the  Catskills,  the  Ozarks,  — 
do  anything  which  will  make  you  a  self-subsisting,  skilful, 
effective  worker  with  the  hands,  while  you  have  the  full  con 
trol  of  your  mental  powers,  and  may  apply  your  hours  won 
from  toil  to  their  improvement,  until  you  shall  be  called  thence 
to  intellectual  pursuits  by  some  other  need  than  your  own. 
Then  you  may  accept  the  new  opportunity  in  perfect  security, 
and  in  the  proud  consciousness  that  your  instructed  sinews 
can  earn  you  a  livelihood  by  manual  labor,  should  it  ever 
happen  that  you  can  no  longer  maintain  your  integrity  and 
your  self-respect  in  that  other  vocation  to  which  a  hope  of 
wider  usefulness,  and  the  request  of  those  you  serve,  will  have 
drawn  you.  Now,  you  need  no  longer  consider  how  much 
truth  the  public  will  bear,  but  what  is  the  particular  truth  it 
needs  to  have  expounded  and  enforced  to-day.  You  will  serve 
mankind  as  a  benefactor,  not  now  as  a  slave. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  venerable  of  jokes,  —  patronized,  I 
dare  say,  by  Mr.  Joseph  Miller  and  other  ancient  collectors  of 
good  things,  and  yet  so  pat  to  my  argument  that  I  cannot  re 
frain  from  quoting  it,  —  that  a  London  ship  was  once  captured 
off  the  Spanish  coast  by  an  Algerine  rover,  and  her  crew  and 
passengers  mustered  before  the  Dey,  to  be  put  to  the  best  use 
respectively  as  slaves.  Each,  as  he  entered  the  immediate 
presence  of  the  head  pirate,  was  required  to  name  his  trade 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  447 

or  calling  ;  which,  being  duly  interpreted,  he  was  assigned  to 
the  workshops,  the  ship-yard,  the  gardens,  or  the  galleys,  ac 
cording  as  his  past  experience  had  fitted  him  for  efficiency 
in  one  vocation  or  another.  At  length,  there  came  one  who 
answered  the  usual  question  by  avowing  himself  an  author, 
and  this  was  finally  translated  so  as  to  render  it  compre 
hensible  to  the  Dey ;  who,  after  puzzling  his  brains  for  some 
time  to  devise  a  better  use  for  so  helpless  an  object,  finally 
ordered  him  to  be  provided  with  a  pair  of  feather  inexpressi 
bles,  and  set  to  hatching  out  chickens.  Here  the  story  stops, 
leaving  us  in  tantalizing  darkness  as  to  the  success  of  the 
literary  gentleman  in  this  new  field  of  production  ;  but,  as 
the  employment  so  compelled  must  have  been  sedentary  and 
irksome  to  the  last  degree,  it  serves  to  enforce  my  moral, 
that  a  youth  should  thoroughly  qualify  himself  to  earn  his 
own  bread  with  his  hands  before  he  risks  himself  on  the  pre 
carious  enterprise  of  ministering  to  the  intellectual  needs  of 
others. 

Having  thus  protested,  as  I  could  not  in  conscience  fail  to 
do,  against  the  baseness  which  aspires  to  authorship  as  an 
escape  from  ruder  labor,  and  then  whimpers  because  its  flim 
sy  intellectual  wares  cannot  be  exchanged  for  wholesome 
bread-corn,  or  substantial  beef,  let  me  not  fail  to  remonstrate 
also  against  the  crying  injustice  done,  more  especially  by  the 
laws  of  our  country,  not  to  her  worthless  but  to  her  worthier, 
nobler  Authors,  through  the  denial  of  International  Copy 
right.  We  nationally  and  systematically  steal  the  works  of 
Bulwer,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Macaulay,  Browning,  Tennyson ; 
boldly  claiming  the  right  and  exerting  the  power  of  taking, 
using,  enjoying,  their  products,  without  rendering  the  authors 
any  equivalent ;  and  we  thereby  deprive  our  own  authors  of 
the  fair  and  just  reward  of  their  labor  as  well.  Our  Irving, 
Bryant,  Hawthorne,  Longfellow,  &c.,  are  less  widely  read  and 
less  fully  recompensed  than  they  should  be,  because  the 
works  on  which  they  are  paid  a  copyright  must  be  sold  in 
direct  competition  with  those  of  their  European  rivals,  whom 
we  refuse  to  pay  at  all.  "  Are  they  not  paid  by  their  own 


448  MISCELLANIES. 

countrymen  ? "  I  hear  triumphantly  asked.  "  No,  sir  ! "  I  re 
ply  ;  not  paid  by  Europe  for  the  service  they  render  us,  not 
paid  by  anybody  else  for  the  instruction  or  entertainment 
we  derive  from  their  works.  This  instruction  we  have  no 
moral  right  to  appropriate  without  paying  for  it,  any  more 
than  we  might  honestly  clothe  ourselves  in  unbought  Euro 
pean  fabrics  which  a  wrecking  storm  had  strewn  along  our 
shores.  That  we  can  take  them  without  redress,  and  for  the 
present  with  impunity,  is  undoubted  ;  but  that  no  more  proves 
our  right  to  do  it  than  the  impunity  long  enjoyed  by  the  cor 
sairs  of  the  Barbary  coast  in  plundering  Christian  vessels  in 
the  Mediterranean,  proved  the  justice  of  that  shameful  atro 
city.  The  day  will  yet  dawn  wherein  Man  everywhere  shall 
profoundly  realize  that  no  essential  advantage  can  ever  be 
obtained  through  injustice,  —  that  the  constitution  of  the  Uni 
verse  is  such  that  no  product  of  human  effort  can  be  ob 
tained  cheaper  than  by  honestly  buying  and  fairly  paying  for 
it.  In  that  day,  it  will  be  felt  and  admitted  that  we  have 
seriously  injured  and  imperilled  our  country,  by  intrusting 
the  formation  of  its  mind,  morals,  and  manners  mainly  to 
Foreign  Authors,  through  the  relative  cheapening  and  conse 
quent  diffusion  of  their  works  inevitably  resulting  from  the 
denial  of  International  Copyright. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  chapter  in  the  history  of  Literature 
more  amusing,  and  yet  none  which  is  essentially  more  melan 
choly,  than  that  which  acquaints  us  with  the  frailties  of 
Authors,  and  especially  of  those  of  decided  genius.  That 
Shakespeare  was  arraigned  for  deer-stealing,  —  a  most  poetical 
and  delicate  sort  of  theft,  all  admit ;  —  that  the  great  Bacon, 
father  of  modern  Philosophy,  was  disgraced  and  cashiered  for 
corruption  as  Lord  Chancellor,  the  most  responsible  and  one 
of  the  most  lucrative  as  well  as  honorable  posts  in  the  king 
dom  ;  that  Burns  was  irregular  in  love  and  immoderate  in 
drink ;  that  Byron  was  a  libertine,  and  Chatterton  a  cheat ; 
that  some  bards  have  run  away  with  other  men's  wives, 
while  a  good  many  have  run  away  from  their  own,  —  these, 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  449 

and  like  deplorable  facts,  are  reiterated  and  gloated  over  by 
millions,  who  are  much  better  acquainted  with  the  vices  and 
errors  of  the  greatly  gifted  than  with  their  writings.  Too 
many  of  us  find  an  ignoble,  if  not  malicious,  pleasure  in  re 
ducing  those  whose  intellectual  stature  threatens  to  dwarf  us 
at  least  to  our  own  moral  level ;  we  catch  at  the  evidences  of 
their  frailty,  in  order  to  assure  ourselves  that  we  too  are 
spiritually  deathless  as  they,  or  they  at  least  mortal  as  we 
are.  And  their  lives  are  necessarily  so  public,  so  transparent, 
so  scrutinized,  that  the  least  flaw  attracts  observation ;  they 
seem  worse  than  others  at  least  as  bad  as  they,  only  because 
they  are  better  known.  How  many  follies,  meannesses,  vices, 
sins,  in  the  lives  of  the  common-place,  are  charitably  hidden 
from  public  view  by  the  friendly  oblivion  which  screens  the 
majority  from  observation  in  shielding  them  from  public  inter 
est  or  curiosity  !  How  many  have  stolen  deer,  and  been  con 
victed  and  whipped  or  imprisoned  for  it,  and  had  the  matter 
all  over  and  forgotten  within  a  year  or  two  ;  while  here  stands 
great  Shakespeare,  still  in  the  stocks  for  deer-stealing,  though 
he  has  stood  there  so  patiently  —  a  little  disdainfully,  per 
haps,  yet  quite  exemplarily  —  for  almost  three  centuries ! 
0,  it  is  a  fearful  thing  for  one  greatly  gifted  to  cherish  vices 
or  yield  to  temptations  !  his  errors  cover  and  deform  him  like 
writhing,  hissing  snakes,  whose  scaly  sides  and  gleaming 
crests  shine  in  the  refulgence  by  which  his  genius  has  sur 
rounded  him,  from  the  towering  height  to  which  his  achieve 
ments  have  lifted  him,  so  that  the  whole  world  sees  them ; 
the  good  with  pitying  sorrow,  the  thoughtless  with  mirthful 
levity,  the  bad  with  ill-concealed  exultation.  Vice  is  lament 
able  in  any,  —  is  the  source,  not  merely  of  moral  degradation, 
but  of  physical  suffering ;  but  saddest  of  all  are  the  offen 
ces,  most  signal  and  enduring  the  punishments,  of  those  fitted 
by  Nature  to  be  great,  —  the  Kings  of  the  mighty  realm  of 
undying  Thought ! 

The  necessities,  the  perplexities,  the  pecuniary  distresses, 
of  authors,  —  these,  too,  have  afforded  the  multitude  an  inex- 
29 


450  MISCELLANIES. 

haustible  fund  of  anecdote  and  entertainment.  In  fact,  the 
obvious  contrast  between  the  novelist  or  poet  in  his  garret, 
lying  abed  for  the  day,  perhaps,  to  have  his  linen  washed, 
while  he  considers  whether  to  let  his  hero  marry  the  great 
heiress  and  inherit  his  principality  just  yet,  or  tantalize  the 
reader's  impatience  with  new  machinations  or  impediments 
through  two  or  three  chapters  more,  —  this  is  antithesis  too 
pungent,  too  comic,  not  to  be  enjoyed.  The  great  majority 
have  ceased  to  read  such  "  slow,"  tame  essays  as  those  of  The 
Spectator  and  The  Tatler;  yet  the  story  of  Dick  Steele's 
embarrassments,  follies,  arrests  for  debt,  and  irreclaimable 
prodigalities,  have  recently  been  retold  to  our  city  audiences 
by  Thackeray  with  inimitable  felicity,  and  enjoyed  with  un 
exampled  zest.  An  author's  thoughts,  it  would  seem,  may 
perish  or  be  supplanted,  but  the  mementos  of  his  thoughtless 
ness  will  endure  forever. 

Yet  there  is  exaggeration  in  the  current  notion  of  the  con 
stitutional  poverty  and  squalor,  the  desperate  shifts  and  aver 
age  seediness,  of  authors,  which  ought  to  be  exposed,  since 
there  is  just  truth  enough  at  the  bottom  of  it  to  render  it 
mischievous.  The  great,  the  radical  difference  between  our  age 
and  the  centuries  which  preceded  the  invention  of  printing, 
ought  to  be  explained  and  realized.  In  those  ages,  the  cost 
of  multiplying  books  was  so  great  that  very  few  copies,  even 
of  the  best,  were  made  or  could  be  afforded ;  and  the  author's 
right  of  property  in  his  work  —  that  is,  his  rightful  control 
over  the  privilege  of  reproducing  it  —  was  of  slender  or 
doubtful  pecuniary  value.  Homer,  of  course,  received  nothing 
for  his  masterly  and  immediately,  universally  popular  works, 
beyond  the  few  pence  flung  to  him  here  and  there  in  requital 
for  the  pleasure  he  afforded  by  singing  them.  Cicero  was 
paid  for  his  orations  by  his  clients,  never  by  his  readers. 
And  thus  it  chanced  that  the  dedication  of  books,  now  so 
absurd  and  unmeaning,  had  once  a  real  force  and  significance. 
Authors,  as  a  class,  were  never  rich,  and  those  who  were  poor 
had  yet  inherited  a  prejudice  against  living  on  air.  And, 
since  their  works  had  no  pecuniary  value  when  completed, 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  451 

they  were  very  poor  security,  while  yet  unwritten,  for  the 
bread  that  must  be  eaten,  and  the  wine  which  would  be  drank, 
by  the  authors  while  writing  them.  So  each  poor  aspirant 
for  literary  distinction  was  obliged,  at  the  outset  of  his  under 
taking,  to  seek  and  find  a  patron,  wealthy,  and  fond  of  doing 
public-spirited  acts,  or  at  least  of  the  fame  thence  arising,  who 
would  be  willing  to  subsist  him  while  at  his  work  and  reward 
him  at  its  close.  The  Dedication,  then,  was  the  author's 
public  and  formal  acknowledgment  of  his  obligation  to  his 
patron,  — his  avowal  that  the  credit  of  the  work  ought  to  be 
divided  between  them, — just  as  to-day  the  inventor  of  a 
mechanical  improvement,  and  the  capitalist  who  supplies  the 
money  wherewith  to  perfect  and  secure  it,  often  take  out  a 
patent  jointly.  But  the  Art  of  Printing,  and  the  general 
diffusion  of  knowledge  and  literary  appetite,  have  abolished 
patrons,  by  abolishing  the  necessity  which  evoked  them ;  so 
that  there  is  now  but  one  real  patron,  The  Public,  and  nearly 
all  dedications  to  particular  individuals  are  affected,  anti 
quated,  and  unmeaning. 

It  is  a  very  common  but  a  very  mischievous  notion,  that 
the  writing  of  a  book  is  creditable  per  se.  On  the  contrary, 
I  hold  it  discreditable,  and  only  to  be  justified  by  proof  of 
lofty  qualities  and  generous  aims  embodied  therein.  To  write 
a  book  when  you  have  nothing  new  to  communicate,  — 
nothing  to  say  that  has  not  been  better  said  already,  —  that  is 
to  inflict  a  real  injury  on  mankind.  A  new  book  is  only  to  be 
justified  by  a  new  truth.  If  Jonas  Potts,  however  illiterate 
and  commonplace,  has  been  shipwrecked  on  Hudson's  Bay, 
and  has  travelled  thence  overland  to  Detroit  or  Montreal  by 
a  route  previously  unknown,  then  he  may  give  us  a  book  — 
if  he  will  attempt  no  more  than  to  tell  us  as  clearly  as  pos 
sible  what  he  experienced  and  saw  by  the  way,  —  which  will 
have  a  genuine  value,  and  which  the  world  may  well  thank 
him  for ;  and  so  of  a  man  who,  having  manufactured  charcoal 
all  his  days,  should  favor  us  with  a  treatise  on  burning  char 
coal,  showing  what  was  the  relative  value  for  that  use  of  the 


452  MISCELLANIES. 

various  woods ;  how  long  they  should  be  on  fire  respectively ; 
how  much  wood  should  be  burned  in  one  pit,  and  how  the 
burning  should  be  managed.  Every  contribution,  however 
rude  and  humble,  to  our  knowledge  of  nature,  and  of  the 
means  by  which  her  products  may  most  advantageously  be 
made  subservient  to  our  needs,  is  beneficent,  and  worthy  of 
our  regard.  But  the  fabrication  of  new  poems,  or  novels,  or 
essays,  or  histories,  which  really  add  nothing  to  our  stock  of 
facts,  to  our  fund  of  ideas,  but,  so  far  as  they  have  any  signifi 
cance,  merely  resay  what  has  been  more  forcibly,  intelligibly, 
happily,  said  already,  —  this  is  a  work  which  does  less  than 
no  good,  —  which  ought  to  be  decried  and  put  down,  under 
the  general  police  duty  of  abating  nuisances.  I  would  have 
every  writer  of  a  book  cited  before  a  competent  tribunal  and 
made  to  answer  the  questions :  "  Sir,  what  proposition  is  this 
book  intended  to  set  forth  and  commend  ?  What  fact  does 
it  reveal  ?  What  is  its  drift,  its  purport  ? "  If  it  embodies 
a  new  truth,  or  even  a  new  suggestion,  though  it  seem  a 
very  mistaken  and  absurd  one,  make  way  for  it !  and  let  it 
fight  its  own  battle ;  but  if  it  has  really  710  other  aim  than  to 
be  readable,  therefore  salable,  and  thus  to  win  gold  for  its 
author  and  his  accomplices,  the  printer  and  publisher,  then 
let  a  bonfire  be  made  of  its  manuscript  sheets,  so  that  the 
world  may  speedily  obtain  from  it  all  the  light  it  is  capable 
of  imparting. 

I  once  received  a  letter  from  a  somewhat  noted  novelist, 
pressing  me  to  read  thoroughly  one  of  his  works  just  issued, 
which  the  cover  proclaimed  his  "  greatest  novel,"  and  which 
he  wished  me  to  commend  to  general  favor,  saying  he  was 
anxious  to  do  his  part  toward  the  emancipation  of  the  poor 
from  their  unmerited  degradations  and  miseries.  I  was  not 
able  to  read  the  book,  —  editors  receive  too  many  requests 
like  this ;  but  I  replied  to  the  letter ;  saying,  in  substance : 
"  You  wish  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  poor.  Well : 
allow  me  to  suggest  a  way.  Take  hold  of  the  first  piece  of 
vacant  earth  you  can  gain  permission  to  use,  plant  an  acre 
with  potatoes,  cultivate  and  gather  them,  give  one  half  to 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  453 

such  poor  creatures  as  really  need  them,  and  save  the  balance 
for  your  own  subsistence  while  you  grow  more  next  year.  In 
this  way,  you  will  do  more  toward  meliorating  the  condition 
of  the  poor  than  you  could  by  writing  novels  from  July  to 
eternity."  My  philanthropic  friend  did  not  take  my  advice, 
—  he  did  not  even  thank  me  for  it ;  but  he  soon  after  started 
a  newspaper,  whereof  he  sent  me  the  first  five  numbers,  in 
every  one  of  which  I  received  a  most  unmerciful  flagellation. 
The  paper  is  since  dead ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  its  editor  con 
tinued  his  castigations  to  the  last,  and  died  laying  it  on  with 
whatever  vigor  he  had  left.  /  could  not  help  that.  I  never 
made  any  reply;  but  my  convictions,  as  expressed  in  my 
letter  to  him,  remain  unchanged  to  this  day. 

Yet  let  us  not  seem  to  disparage  the  Author's  vocation ; 
nay:  we  dare  not,  we  cannot.  There  is  no  other  earthly 
exercise  of  power  so  Olympian,  pervasive,  enduring.  Eeflect 
how  many  generations,  dynasties,  empires,  have  flourished  and 
vanished  since  the  Book  of  Job  was  written ;  and  how  many 
more  will  rise  and  fade,  leaving  that  sublime  old  poem  still 
fresh  and  living.  See  Cicero/  Virgil,  Horace,  Livy,  still 
studied  and  admired  by  the  patrician  youth  of  nations  un 
known  to  Eome  in  her  greatness,  while  all  other  power  per 
taining  to  the  Pagan  era  of  the  Eternal  City  has  long  since 
passed  away  forever.  Nay  :  consider  how  Plutarch,  ^Eschylus, 
Plato,  living  in  a  world  so  -very  different  from  ours,  —  in 
many  respects,  so  infantile  compared  with  ours,  —  can  still 
instruct  the  wisest  and  delight  the  most  critical  among  us, 
and  you  may  well  conclude  that  to  write  nobly,  excellently, 
is  a  far  loftier  achievement  than  to  rule,  to  conquer,  or  to  kill, 
and  that  the  truly  great  author  looks  down  on  the  little  strifes 
and  agitations  of  mankind  from  an  eminence  which  monarchs 
can  but  feebly  emulate,  and  the  ages  can  scarcely  wear  away. 

But  eminence  in  any  good  or  great  undertaking  implies 
intense  devotion  thereto,  —  implies  patient,  laborious  exertion, 
either  in  the  doing  or  in  the  preparing  for  it.  He  who 


454  MISCELLANIES. 

fancies  greatness  an  accident,  a  lucky  hit,  a  stroke  of  good 
fortune,  does  sadly  degrade  the  achievement  contemplated, 
and  undervalue  the  unerring  wisdom  and  inflexible  justice 
wherewith  the  universe  is  ruled.  Ask  who  among  modern 
poets  have  written  most  admirably,  so  far  as  manner  and 
finish  are  regarded,  and  the  lover  of  Poetry  least  acquainted 
with  Literary  History  will  unhesitatingly  answer,  —  Pope, 
Goldsmith,  Gray,  Moore,  Campbell,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Ten 
nyson.  He  may  place  others  above  any  or  all  of  these  in 
power,  in  genius,  in  force ;  but  he  cannot  doubt  that  these 
have  mo'st  smoothly,  happily,  faultlessly,  sung  what  they  had 
to  sing,  —  that  their  thoughts  have  lost  less  than  almost  any 
others'  by  inharmony  or  infelicity  of  expression.  Then  let  him 
turn  to  Biography,  and  he  will  find  that  these  men  have  ex 
celled  nearly  or  quite  all  others  in  patient  study,  in  fastidious 
determination  to  improve,  so  long  as  improvement  was  prac 
ticable  ;  in  persistent  labor,  so  long  as  labor  could  possibly 
avail.  It  was  quite  easy  for  Pope  to  say,  "  The  things  I  have 
written  fastest  have  always  pleased  most " ;  for  he  always 
studied  and  thought  himself  full  of  a  subject  before  he  began 
to  write  about  it,  and  his  composition  was  merely  a  setting 
down  and  arranging  of  ideas  already  present  in  his  mind. 
And  yet  I  apprehend  that  Posterity  has  not  ratified  his  judg 
ment  ;  I  mean,  that  his  works  which  "  pleased  most "  when 
first  published  have  not  stood  the  test  of  time  as  well  as  some 
others.  The  world  of  letters  knew  him  as  a  pains-taking, 
laborious,  correct  writer,  even  before  he  had  established  his 
claim  to  be  honored  as  a  great  one.  And  the  works  he  wrote 
so  rapidly  he  afterward  revised,  corrected,  altered,  recast, 
before  allowing  the  public  to  see  them,  to  the  sad  encourage 
ment  of  blasphemy  among  his  printers,  so  that  on  one  occa 
sion  his  publisher  decided  that  it  would  be  easier  to  compose 
in  type  afresh  than  attempt  to  correct  one  of  his  proofs.  No 
man  ever  wrote  better,  so  far  as  style  is  regarded  ;  because  no 
man  was  ever  more  determined  to  publish  nothing  that  he 
could  improve.  So  Goldsmith  considered  four  lines  of  his 
"  Deserted  Village  "  a  good  day's  work,  and  the  world  has 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  455 

ratified  his  judgment.  With  the  kindred  "  Elegy  "  of  Gray, 
this  belongs  to  a  school  of  poetry  which  I  do  not  transcend- 
ently  admire  ;  but  its  excellence  after  its  kind,  I  presume,  no 
one  has  ever  doubted.  And  it  is  related  of  Moore,  the  most 
fastidious  and  the  most  melodious  writer  of  our  time,  that  a 
friend  once  travelled  with  him  all  day,  and  was  surprised  by  his 
taciturn  moodiness  and  abstraction,  until,  just  before  night, 
his  face  lighted  up,  and  he  exclaimed,  like  the  old  Greek  :  "  I 
have  it !  That  will  do  ! "  —  then  explained  to  his  startled  com 
panion  that  he  had  been  all  day  trying  to  adjust  a  rhyme  or 
counterpart  to  a  line  in  one  of  his  then  unfinished  poems,  and 
had  but  just  now  succeeded.  It  is  thus  that  works  which  the 
world  prizes  and  embalms  are  composed.  A  style  termed 
"  easy  "  is  generally  obtained  at  great  expense  of  time  and 
effort,  whether  in  the  immediate  composition  or  in  the  life 
long  preparation  for  it ;  and  he  who  calculates  on  storming 
the  ramparts  of  literary  fame  by  the  audacity,  the  impetuosity, 
of  his  genius,  will  very  certainly  be  repulsed  and  discomfited. 
The  "  kingdom  of  heaven "  may  "  suffer  violence,"  but  the 
republic  of  letters  resents  and  repels  it. 

0,  my  erring  friend  !  delighted  that  your  son  of  fourteen 
years  or  your  daughter  of  twelve  has  written  a  page  of  not 
intolerable  verses,  I  pray  you  to  lay  this  lesson  to  heart ! 
I  can  sympathize  with  your  paternal  partiality  ;  I  do  not 
wonder  that  you  are  proud  of  your  child's  achievement,  —  for 
the  writing  even  of  bad  verses  at  so  tender  an  age  is  an 
achievement  in  one  sense,  and  may  plausibly  be  deemed  by 
you  a  sign  of  promise,  —  but  you  are  thinking  of  the  figure 
those  verses  would  cut  in  the  Poet's  Corner  of  some  journal, 
of  the  praises  they  would  elicit  and  the  distinction  they 
would  confer  on  their  writer ;  and  against  these  fond,  fool 
ish,  perilous  fancies  I  most  earnestly  protest  and  warn  you. 
If  your  child  has  any  talent  —  which  is  possible,  though  not 
probable  ;  for  precocity  in  any  but  secret  authorship  argues 
a  low  idea  of  the  diffioulties  of  creditable  composition,  and  a 
taste  easily  satisfied,  because  of  the  poverty  of  its  concep- 


456  MISCELLANIES. 

tions  of  excellence,  —  still,  it  is  possible  your  child  Tias  talent, 
(which  I  am  confident  he  did  not  inherit)  ;  and,  if  he  has,  you 
are  taking  the  very  course  to  ruin  him.  Puff  him  up  with 
the  conceit  that  he  is  an  author  at  fourteen,  and  he  will  pret 
ty  surely  have  proved  himself  a  fool  before  he  is  twenty-five. 
But  read  over  his  composition  with  him,  and  kindly  point  out 
its  faults  or  weaknesses  ;  encourage  him  to  try  again,  and 
avoid  these  errors  if  possible,  but  studiously  withhold  his  pro 
ductions  from  publicity,  and  impress  him  with  the  truth  that 
to  write  feebly  or  badly,  —  as  he  cannot  now  help  doing  if  he 
writes  at  all,  —  is  only  creditable  or  noteworthy  as  it  renders 
possible  his  writing  well  after  he  shall  have  attained  intellec 
tual  and  physical  maturity.  Thus  cultivate,  chasten,  and 
ripen  his  faculty,  but  never  stimulate  it ;  and  there  is  a  possi 
bility  that  it  may  ultimately  ally  him  to  the  great  and  good 
of  past  ages  ;  but  let  him  set  out  with  the  conceit  that  he  is 
a  prodigy,  and  his  wreck  and  ruin  are  inevitable. 

It  only  remains  to  me  to  speak  more  especially  of  my  own 
vocation,  —  the  Editor's,  —  which  bears  much  the  same  rela 
tion  to  the  Author's  that  the  Bellows-blower's  bears  to  the 
Organist's,  the  Player's  to  the  Dramatist's,  Jullien  or  Listz  to 
Weber  or  Beethoven.  The  Editor,  from  the  absolute  neces 
sity  of  the  case,  cannot  speak  deliberately ;  he  must  write 
to-day  of  to-day's  incidents  and  aspects,  though  these  may 
be  completely  overlaid  and  transformed  by  the  incidents  and 
aspects  of  to-morrow.  He  must  write  and  strive  in  the  full 
consciousness  that  whatever  honor  or  distinction  he  may  ac 
quire  must  perish  with  the  generation  that  bestowed  them,  — 
with  the  thunders  of  applause  that  greeted  Kemble  or  Jenny 
Lind,  with  the  ruffianism  that  expelled  Macready,  or  the 
cheerful  laugh  that  erewhile  rewarded  the  sallies  of  Burton 
or  Placide.  No  other  public  teacher  lives  so  wholly  in  the 
present  as  the  Editor  ;  and  the  noblest  affirmations  of  unpop 
ular  truth,  —  the  most  self-sacrificing  defiance  of  a  base  and 
selfish  Public  Sentiment  that  regards  only  the  most  sordid 
ends,  and  values  every  utterance  solely  as  it  tends  to  pre- 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  457 

serve  quiet  and  contentment,  while  the  dollars  fall  jingling 
into  the  merchant's  drawer,  the  land-jobber's  vault,  and  the 
miser's  bag,  —  can  but  be  noted  in  their  day,  and  with  their 
day  forgotten.  It  is  his  cue  to  utter  silken  and  smooth  say 
ings,  —  to  condemn  Vice  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  pleas 
ures  or  alarm  the  consciences  of  the  vicious,  —  to  praise  and 
champion  Liberty  so  as  not  to  give  annoyance  or  offence  to 
Slavery,  and  to  commend  and  glorify  Labor  without  attempt 
ing  to  expose  or  repress  any  of  the  gainful  contrivances  by 
which  Labor  is  plundered  and  degraded.  Thus  sidling  dex 
terously  between  somewhere  and  nowhere,  the  Able  Editor  of 
the  Nineteenth  Century  may  glide  through  life  respectable 
and  in  good  case,  and  lie  down  to  his  long  rest  with  the  non- 
achievements  of  his  life  emblazoned  on  the  very  whitest  mar 
ble,  surmounting  and  glorifying  his  dust. 

There  is  a  different  and  sterner  path,  —  I  know  not  whether 
there  be  any  now  qualified  to  tread  it,  —  I  am  not  sure  that 
even  one  has  ever  followed  it  implicitly,  in  view  of  the  certain 
meagerness  of  its  temporal  rewards  and  the  haste  wherewith 
any  fame  acquired  in  a  sphere  so  thoroughly  ephemeral  as 
the  Editor's  must  be  shrouded  by  the  dark  waters  of  oblivion. 
This  path  demands  an  ear  ever  open  to  the  plaints  of  the 
wronged  and  the  suffering,  though  they  can  never  repay  ad 
vocacy,  and  those  who  mainly  support  newspapers  will  be 
annoyed  and  often  exposed  by  it;  a  heart  as  sensitive  to 
oppression  and  degradation  in  the  next  street  as  if  they  were 
practised  in  Brazil  or  Japan ;  a  pen  as  ready  to  expose  and 
reprove  the  crimes  whereby  wealth  is  amassed  and  luxury  en 
joyed  in  our  own  country  at  this  hour,  as  if  they  had  only  been 
committed  by  Turks  or  Pagans  in  Asia  some  centuries  ago. 
Such  an  Editor,  could  one  be  found  or  trained,  need  not  ex 
pect  to  lead  an  easy,  indolent,  or  wholly  joyous  life,  —  to  be 
blessed  by  Archbishops  or  followed  by  the  approving  shouts 
of  ascendant  majorities ;  but  he  might  find  some  recompense 
for  their  loss  in  the  calm  verdict  of  an  approving  conscience  ; 
and  the  tears  of  the  despised  and  the  friendless,  preserved 
from  utter  despair  by  his  efforts  and  remonstrances,  might 
freshen  for  a  season  the  daisies  that  bloomed  above  his  grave. 


458  MISCELLANIES. 

Let  me  conclude  by  restating  the  main  propositions  which 
pervade  and  vivify  this  essay.     Literature  is  a  noble  calling, 
but  only  when  the  call  obeyed  by  the  aspirant  issues  from  a 
world  to  be  enlightened  and  blessed,  not  from  a  void  stomach 
clamoring  to  be  gratified  and  filled.     Authorship  is  a  royal 
priesthood;   but  woe  to   him  who  rashly  lays   unhallowed 
hands  on  the  ark  or  the  altar,  professing  a  zeal  for  the  welfare 
of  the  Eace  only  that  he  may  secure  the  confidence  and  sym 
pathies  of  others,  and  use  them  for  his  own  selfish  ends  !     If 
a  man  have  no  heroism  in  his  soul,  —  no  animating  purpose 
beyond  living  easily  and  faring  sumptuously,  —  I  can  imagine 
no  greater  mistake  on  his  part  than  that  of  resorting  to  author 
ship  as  a  vocation.     That  such  a  one  may  achieve  what  he 
regards  as  success,  I  do  not  deny ;  but,  if  so,  he  does  it  at 
greater  risk  and  by  greater  exertion  than  would  have  been 
required  to  win  it  in  any  other  pursuit.     No :  it  cannot  be 
wise  in  a  selfish,  or  sordid,  or  sensual  man  to  devote  himself 
to  Literature ;  the  fearful  self-exposure  incident  to  this  way 
of  life,  —  the  dire  necessity  which  constrains  the  author  to 
stamp  his  own  essential  portrait  on  every  volume  of  his  works, 
no  matter  how  carefully  he  may  fancy  he  has  erased,  or  how 
artfully  he  may  suppose  he  has  concealed  it,  —  this  should 
repel  from  the  vestibule  of  the  temple  of  Fame  the  foot  of 
every  profane  or  mocking  worshipper.     But  if  you  are  sure 
that  your  impulse  is  not  personal  nor  sinister,  but  a  desire 
to  serve  and  ennoble  your  Eace,  rather  than  to  dazzle  and  be 
served  by  it ;  that  you  are  ready  joyfully  to  "  shun  delights, 
and  live  laborious  days,"  so  that  thereby  the  well-being  of 
mankind  may  be  promoted,  —  then  I  pray  you  not  to  believe 
that  the  world  is  too  wise  to  need  further  enlightenment,  nor 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  one  so  humble  as  yourself  to 
say  aught  whereby  error  may  be  dispelled  or  good  be  diffused. 
Sell  not  your  integrity ;  barter  not  your  independence  ;  beg  of 
no  man  the  privilege  of  earning  a  livelihood  by  Authorship  ; 
since  that  is  to  degrade  your  faculty,  and  very  probably  to 
corrupt  it ;  but,  seeing  through  your  own  clear  eyes,  and  utter 
ing  the  impulses  of  your  own  honest  heart,  speak  or  write  as 


LITERATURE  AS  A    VOCATION.  459 

truth  and  love  shall  dictate,  asking  no  material  recompense, 
but  living  by  the  labor  of  your  hands,  until  recompense  shall 
be  voluntarily  tendered  to  secure  your  service,  and  you  may 
frankly  accept  it  without  a  compromise  of  your  integrity  or  a 
peril  to  your  freedom.  Soldier  in  the  long  warfare  for  Man's 
rescue  from  Darkness  and  Evil,  choose  not  your  place  on  the 
battle-field,  but  joyfully  accept  that  assigned  you ;  asking  not 
whether  there  be  higher  or  lower,  but  only  whether  it  is 
here  that  you  can  most  surely  do  your  proper  work,  and  meet 
your  full  share  of  the  responsibility  and  the  danger.  Believe 
not  that  the  Heroic  Age  is  no  more ;  since  to  that  age  is  only 
requisite  the  heroic  purpose  and  the  heroic  soul.  So  long  as 
ignorance  and  evil  shall  exist,  so  long  there  will  be  work  for 
the  devoted,  and  so  long  will  there  be  room  in  the  ranks  of 
those  who,  defying  obloquy,  misapprehension,  bigotry,  and 
interested  craft,  struggle  and  dare  for  the  redemption  of  the 
world.  "Of  making  many  books  there  is'  no  end,"  though 
there  is  happily  a  speedy  end  of  most  books  after  they  are 
made ;  but  he  who  by  voice  or  pen  strikes  his  best  blow  at 
the  impostures  and  vices  whereby  our  race  is  debased  and 
paralyzed  may  close  his  eyes  in  death,  consoled  and  cheered 
by  the  reflection  that  he  has  done  what  he  could  for  the  eman 
cipation  and  elevation  of  his  kind. 


POETS  AND  POETRY. 


WE  are  all  born  poets.  Not  that  every  tenanted  cradle 
holds  an  undeveloped  Shakespeare,  —  far  from  it. 
Demonstrated  intellectual  greatness  is  the  prerogative  of  the 
few ;  it  is  "  the  vision,"  not  "  the  faculty  divine,"  which  is  the 
birthright  of  the  many.  The  grime  of  smoke  and  care  and 
sin  heavily  inwraps,  incases,  japans,  many  souls,  even  in 
early  childhood,  —  as  we  see  children  of  seven  years  prema 
turely  haggard  with  suffering,  squalor,  and  vice,  —  but  there 
was  a  time  when  these  imps  were  poets,  lacking  only  the 
power  of  expression.  The  child  who  conjectured  that  the 
stars  were  but  chinks  or  crannies  of  heaven,  —  gimlet-holes 
bored  in  the  adamantine  firmament  to  let  God's  glory 
through ;  the  prattler  who  watched  the  darkening  evening 
sky,  until,  espying  the  first  bright  speck  through  its  dusky 
medium,  she  rapturously  exclaimed,  "  There  !  God  has  made 
a  star  ! "  •  —  were  happy  only  in  expressing  the  common  im 
pulses  of  childhood.  As  all  young  children  are  actually  the- 
ists,  —  believers  in  a  veritable,  personal,  conscious,  omnis 
cient,  omnipotent  Author  and  Ruler  of  all  things,  and  utterly 
averse  to  substituting  for  this  natural,  tangible  conception 
any  thin  attenuation  of  Pantheistic  fog  or  "fire-mist,"  any 
blank  Atheistic  assumption,  which  gives  to  blind  Chance  or 
inexorable  Fate  the  name  of  Law,  —  so  the  uncorrupted  child 
instinctively  perceives  the  poetic  element  in  Nature,  realizes 
that  we  are  not  the  mere  combinations  of  gases  and  alkalies 
to  which  the  chemist's  crucible  would  reduce  us,  but  beings 
of  mysterious  origin  and  untold  spiritual  force,  inhabiting  a 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  461 

world  only  less  weird  and  wondrous  than  ourselves.  The 
Frenchman,  who  was  astounded  by  the  discovery  that  he  had 
been  talking  prose  all  his  life,  might  have  been  equally 
amazed  by  the  assurance  that  he  formerly  thought,  if  he  did 
not  utter,  poetry,  —  and  this  was  as  true  as  the  other.  Every 
close  observer  must  have  noted  how  naturally  the  talk  of  un 
schooled,  unspoiled  children  takes  on  poetic  vestments,  —  be 
comes  dramatic  not  merely,  but  hyperbolic  and  imaginative 
in  a  high  degree.  Emerson  truly  says  that  the  first  person 
who  called  another  puppy  or  ass  was  a  poet,  —  perceiving  in 
the  individual  contemplated  a  spiritual  aptitude  to  bark  or 
bray,  as  the  case  might  be.  I  only  add  that  the  first  child 
who  ever  saw  a  man  making  an  ass  of  himself,  —  which,  with 
all  deference  to  our  common  progenitor,  I  apprehend  was  the 
first  child  that  ever  clearly  saw  anything  whatever,  —  at  once 
perceived  the  spiritual  similitude,  and  probably  blurted  out 
the  ungracious  truth.  All  savage  tribes  —  that  is,  all  nations 
still  in  their  mental  childhood  —  have  a  poetic  literature,  if 
any;  their  legends,  their  traditions,  their  romances,  their 
chronicles,  are  all  poetic,  alike  in  substance  and  in  diction. 
Of  this  truth  our  Aborigines  afford  a  ready  demonstration. 
A  stagnant  or  decrepit  race,  like  the  Chinese,  may  have  their 
prosaic  ordinances,  statutes,  records,  statistics,  philosophies ; 
not  so  a  vigorous,  elastic,  Teutonic  tribe  or  Saracenic  empire. 

Thus  we  naturally  find  some  of  the  most  admired  •  and  re 
markable  poems  —  the  Book  of  Job,  the  Hebrew  Psalms,  the 
Iliad,  and  the  Bagavhat  Geta  of  the  Hindoos  —  dating  back  to 
the  infancy  of  Society,  as  the  Inferno,  and  Shakespeare's  and 
Milton's  masterpieces,  ally  themselves  with  the  infancy  of 
modern  civilization,  or  of  the  Protestant  development  thereof. 
We  laugh  at  Nimrod  Wildfire  and  kindred  etchings  of  the 
hyperbolic  or  exaggerated  modes  of  speech  indicative  of  a 
new  country,  —  new,  that  is,  to  the  race  now  inhabiting  it ; 
the  story  of  a  Western  soil  so  fertile  that  a  crowbar,  carelessly 
thrust  into  it  overnight,  is  found  bristling  with  spikes  and 
tenpenny  nails  next  morning;  of  the  pumpkin- vine,  that 
outran  the  steed  of  the  rather  astonished  traveller;  of  the 


462  MISCELLANIES. 

Vermonter,  whose  chance  companion  in  the  cutter  behind  a 
rather  lively  nag  at  length  perplexedly  inquired,  "  What  grave 
yard  is  this  we  are  passing  through  ? "  and  was  answered, 
"  Only  the  milestones  along  the  road,"  —  but  a  new  people 
are  irresistibly  prone  to  these  exaggerations.  The  young 
American,  who  goes  abroad,  finds  himself  obliged  to  moderate 
and  tone  down  his  ordinary  conversation  to  adapt  it  to  the 
general  level ;  to  speak  of  Niagara,  or  Lake  Superior,  or  the 
glaciers  of  Switzerland,  in  the  language  that  rises  spontane 
ously  to  his  lips,  would  jar  the  nerves  of  his  polished  listeners, 
and  he  would  very  possibly  be  reminded,  by  some  highly 
respectable  citizen,  that  the  view  from  the  foot  of  the  great 
cataract  at  Niagara  could  not  possibly  be  that  of  a  falling 
ocean,  since  the  narrowest  ocean  is  three  thousand  miles 
across,  while  Niagara  is  hardly  a  mile.  The  well-bred  Eng 
lishman  of  to-day  is  so  fenced  in,  incrusted,  barricaded,  with 
respectabilities,  proprieties,  decencies,  that  the  poetic  element 
—  nay,  even  the  faculty  of  appreciating  it  —  seems  choked 
out  of  him ;  hence,  the  British  poets  of  to-day  find  a  warmer 
and  more  general  appreciation  with  us  than  at  home ;  and  I 
cannot  doubt  that  there  are  many  more  Americans  than 
Britons  familiar  with  the  works  of  Scott,  Byron,  and  I  think 
even  Shakespeare.  Yet  the  English  are  our  kinsmen  ;  equal, 
but  dissimilar,  in  mental  capacities  and  aptitudes,  —  only  we 
are  still  in  the  poetic  phase  of  our  national  life,  out  of  which 
they  have  passed.  We  are  too  cultivated  and  critical  to  pro 
duce  a  great  epic,  —  our  Washington  is  no  Achilles,  no  Alex 
ander,  no  demigod,  but  a  sensible,  conscientious,  conservative 
Virginia  planter,  heartily  loyal  to  Church  and  King ;  yet  one 
whom  insane  tyranny  and  regal  folly  converts  at  last  into  a 
rebel,  —  of  course,  a  more  formidable  rebel  than  any  natural 
agitator,  leveller,  demagogue,  or  even  philosophizing  democrat, 
could  be ;  for,  when  he  draws  the  sword  against  the  throne  he 
has  revered  and  prayed  for  from  childhood,  be  sure  there  are 
not  many  left  to  draw  for  it  whose  support  carries  either 
moral  weight  or  physical  power  —  the  weight  of  numbers  — 
along  with  it.  For  Washington,  though  a  model  man  in  his 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  463 

way,  is  not  a  representative  American.  His  calm,  sedate, 
orderly  frame  of  mind  is  not  that  which  is  habitual  with  or 
prized  by  the  mass  of  our  people.  He  is  such  a  man  as  the 
multitude  accept  as  a  leader  in  a  perilous  and  trying  emer 
gency,  when  they  feel  a  pressing  need  of  the  sympathy  and 
aid  of  the  solid  "men  of  property  and  standing"  in  their 
imminent  struggle ;  but,  had  not  Washington  led  the  army  of 
the  Eevolution,  he  would  never  have  been  chosen  President ; 
as  a  plain  Virginia  gentleman,  he  would  have  been  beaten  in 
a  canvass  for  the  Legislature  by  some  Davy  Crockett,  Sam 
Houston,  or  Larry  Keitt  of  his  day,  and  would  thereupon 
have  forsworn  politics  in  disgust,  and  devoted  his  after  life 
to  his  family,  his  farm,  and  his  stock,  and  been  known  only 
to  a  hundred  or  two  of  the  next  generation  as  an  upright 
incorruptible  justice  of  the  peace,  and  a  very  capable  and 
soldierly  captain  of  the  militia  company  of  his  neighborhood. 
No :  Washington,  in  an  age  of  peace  and  thrift,  would  never 
have  been  "the  gray-eyed  Man  of  Destiny,"  —  never  been 
cheered  at  the  theatre,  nor  glorified  in  the  star-spangled  jour 
nals.  We  heap  such  honors  on  men  of  a  stamp  very  different 
from  his. 

But  to  return  to  Poetry. 

The  most  vulgar  error  of  the  vulgar  mind  with  respect  to 
Poetry  is  that  which  somehow  confounds  it  with  verse,  and 
even  with  rhyme  ;  supposing  that  a  measured  distich  or  qua 
train,  ending  with  words  of  similar  but  not  identical  sound,  is 
necessarily  poetic.  Proud  mothers  will  often  draw  forth  from 
the  deepest  recess  of  closet  or  bureau  some  metrical  effusion 
of  budding  son  or  daughter,  which  is  supposed  to  be  instinct 
with  poetry,  because  measured  into  feet  and  tagged  with 
rhyme ;  when  in  fact  there  is  no  more  poetry  in  it  than  in 
the  request,  "  Pass  me  the  baked  potatoes."  Rhymed  couplets 
of  regularly  measured  and  accented  lines  are  a  fashion  of  our 
poetry,  but  no  more  essential  to  it  than  a  silk  or  fur  hat  is  to 
the  character  of  a  gentleman.  It  is  barely  possible  that  the 
child  who  has  an  addiction  to  and  knack  of  making  verses 
may  nevertheless  possess  some  share  of  the  poetic  faculty,  — 


464  MISCELLANIES. 

the  Divine  afflatus,  —  but  the  presumption  against  it  is  almost 
overwhelming.  The  poetic  genius  naturally  disdains  the 
fetters  of  rhyme,  or  only  consents  to  wear  them  at  the  beck 
of  stern  necessity.  To  the  fresh,  unhackneyed  soul,  kindling 
with  rapture  inspired  by  its  first  perceptions  of  the  beauty 
inhering  in  the  wonder-works  of  God,  rhyme  is  as  unnatural 
and  repulsive  as  the  fool's  cap  and  bells.  For,  not  merely  is 
it  true  that  there  have  been  great  poets  who  never  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing  as  rhyme,  and  clever  rhymsters  who  had  not 
the  faintest  conception  of  poetry,  but  there  have  been  genuine 
poets  who  failed  miserably  as  rhyming  poetasters.  John 
Bunyan,  for  example,  whose  Pilgrim's  Progress  is  the  epic  of 
Methodism,  —  (I  know,  good  reader,  that  he  was  not  techni 
cally  a  Methodist,  and  that  I  ought  to  have  said  Evangeli 
calism,  had  there  been  such  a  word,)  —  and  one  of  the  truest, 
if  not  the  greatest,  of  British  poems,  wrote  hideous  doggerel 
whenever  he  attempted  verse,  as  the  introduction  to  that 
same  epic  bears  testimony.  There  can  hardly  be  a  more 
certain  evidence  that  a  child  has  ceased  to  be  poetic  than 
the  fact  that  he  has  begun  to  rhyme. 

The  oldest  and  most  natural  —  I  should  rather  say,  the 
least  unnatural — form  of  poetic  expression,  when  poetry- 
ceased  to  be  a  purely  spontaneous  utterance  of  exalted  and 
overmastering  emotions,  and  became,  in  some  sense,  an  art, 
is  that  of  parallelism,  or  the  expression  of  the  same  idea  or 
sentiment  through  two  succeeding  images  or  affirmations  ;  the 
second  being  merely  cumulative  or  confirmatory  of  the  former. 
The  Hebrew  Scriptures  embody  some  of  the  earliest  and  most 
familiar  examples  of  this  parallelism,  of  which  I  cite  Kuth's 
appeal  to  Naomi  as  a  beautiful  exemplification :  — 

"And  Ruth  said: 
*  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thce, 
Nor  to  return  from  following  after  thee : 
For  whither  thou  goest  I  will  go, 
And  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge : 
Thy  people  shall  be  my  people, 
And  thy  God  my  God : 
Where  thou  diest  will  I  die, 
And  there  shall  I  be  buried.'" 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  465 

I  am  inclined  to  deem  this  parallelism,  which  informs  all 
the  poetry  of  the  Bible,  not  exclusively  Hebrew,  but  a  mode 
of  poetic  expression  natural  to  the  primitive  stages  of  Society, 
the  intellectual  puberty  of  the  Eace ;  though  I  at  this  mo 
ment  recall  few  examples  of  it  outside  of  Hebrew  lore.  Mungo 
Park,  the  explorer  of  Central  Africa,  relates  that,  as  he  lay 
sick  and  suffering  in  the  Great  Desert,  the  negro  women,  who 
mercifully  ministered  to  his  sore  necessities,  gave  utterance 
to  their  sympathy  in  a  rude  song,  of  which  the  burden  ran 
thus :  — 

"  Let  us  pity  the  poor  white  man  : 
He  has  no  mother  to  hring  him  milk, 
No  wife  to  grind  his  corn." 

A  parallelism  as  palpable,  though  not  so  perfect,  as  any  in 
Job  or  Ecclesiastes. 

"  The  Poet,"  says  Emerson,  "  is  the  man  without  impedi 
ment."  If  so,  I  apprehend  that  the  Poets  of  our  world's  in 
fancy  enjoyed  certain  marked  advantages  over  their  modern 
successors.  Not  only  was  the  whole  range  of  poetic  imagery- 
then  fresh  and  unused,  so  that  the  bard  was  never  constrained 
to  discard  a  happy  simile  occurring  to  his  mind  because  some 
other  bard  had  used  it  before  him,  but,  moreover,  his  utter 
ance  was  nowise  impeded  or  shackled  by  the  necessity  of 
obeying  the  rules  or  formulae  established  by  preceding  bards 
and  their  critics,  for  the  government  of  the  realm  of  Poetry. 
If  the  soul  of  the  universe  found  expression  through  his  burn 
ing  words,  —  if  their  perusal  inspired  the  reader  with  a  deeper 
and  truer  perception  of  the  infinite  reason  which  inheres  in 
seeming  dissonance,  as  well  as  obvious  harmony  and  good,  — 
if  he  were  impelled  by  it  to  love  and  practise  virtue,  to  loathe 
vice,  yet  pity  its  victims,  and  to  count  nothing  a  defeat  or 
disaster  which  did  not  involve  a  surrender  of  his  own  high 
purpose,  his  generous  aspiration  for  human  well-being,  —  then 
was  he  a  true  poet,  whom  the  ages  were  waiting  to  crown, 
though  Fadladeen  should  demonstrate  unanswerably  his  ig 
norance  of  the  first  rudiments  of  the  minstrel's  art.  But  the 
poet  of  our  day  must  be  an  obedient  vassal  to  an  inexorable 

30 


466  MISCELLANIES. 

rule,  —  must  shun  ruggedness  or  wilfulness  of  expression  as 
a  mortal  sin,  —  must  respect  the  unities,  and  be  loyal  to 
rhythm  and  rhyme,  —  or  he  cannot  induce  the  critics  even  to 
blast  him  with  their  thunders..  True,  a  wild  colt  of  a  bard- 
ling  will  now  and  then  revolt  against  this  despotism,  and  go 
prancing  and  kicking,  and  displaying  his  ill-conditioned, 
shaggy  coat  across  Nature's  wide,  bare  common ;  but  the 
critical  shrug  ultimately  kills  if  it  does  not  tame  him,  and  he 
is  left  but  the  sorry  choice  between  subsiding  into  a  patient 
dray-horse,  and  being  cut  up  for  dog's  meat.  MacDonald 
Clarke,  twenty  years  ago,  and  "  Walt.  Whitman,"  just  now, 
undertook  to  be  poets  in  defiance  of  the  canons  of  the  art ; 
but,  though  the  latter  received  the  unmeasured  indorsement 
of  Emerson,  and  obtained  an  immediate  currency  on  the 
strength  of  it,  I  doubt  whether  even  he,  despite  his  unques 
tionable  originality,  and  dazzling  defiance  of  what  men  have 
been  accustomed  to  regard  as  decency,  will  ever  achieve  the 
distinction  of  being  knocked  on  the  head  with  a  volume  of 
the  Edinburgh  Eeview. 

The  earliest  poets  were,  I  apprehend,  the  shepherds  of 
Arabia,  Chaldea,  and  that  westernmost  jut  of  the  great  Asian 
continent,  wherein  so  large  a  share  of  the  events  memorable 
in  Man's  history  have  transpired.  All  shepherds  are  natu 
rally  poets  ;  or  rather,  the  loneliness,  the  silence,  and  the  seri 
ousness,  of  the  shepherd's  life  naturally  predispose  him  to 
poetry.  He  is  not  necessarily  and  constantly  absorbed  in  his 
daily  duties,  which  yet  require  of  him  a  wakeful,  alert  under 
standing,  and  senses  sharpened  to  acuteness  by  the  necessity 
of  keen  perception  and  watchful  observation.  When  at 
length  his  flock  have  sunk,  at  early  evening,  to  rest,  and  the 
shepherd  crouches,  wrapped  in  his  blanket-cloak,  beside  them, 
his  mind  awakens  to  a  loftier  activity  ere  his  senses  are  sealed 
in  slumber :  from  his  mountain-side  elevation,  he  looks  abroad 
across  rolling  river  and  twinkling  city  —  across  valleys  where 
the  fog  begins  to  gather  and  wooded  ridges  fluttering  in  the 
chill  nisht-breeze  —  to  other  mountains,  vast  and  towering  as 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  467 

his  own,  and  to  heaven,  vaster  and  higher  than  them  all,  and 
the  feelings  of  immensity,  of  awe,  and  of  reverence  are 
stirred  within  his  soul :  if  of  a  cold,  calculating,  mathemati 
cal  nature,  he  becomes  an  astronomer,  and  begins  to  weigh 
the  stars  in  his  balance ;  if  of  a  fervid,  impulsive  genius,  his 
meditations  melt  and  glow  into  poetry.  From  shepherd  races 
and  shepherd  climes  have  come  forth  the  instructors,  con 
querors,  bards,  and  civilizers  of  the  barbarian  world. 

But  the  mountainous  ruggedness,  the  "  cloudless  climes  and 
starry  skies,"  of  Chaldea,  Syria,  and  Arabia,  so  unlike  the 
vast  plains  of  Sarmatia  and  Scythia,  are  especially  favorable 
to  the  development  of  the  poetic  fire  ;  hence,  the  Book  of  Job, 
so  manifestly  pastoral  in  its  origin  as  well  as  its  imagery,  is 
one  of  the  sublimest,  as  it  probably  is  the  very  oldest,  of  sur 
viving  poems.  True,  the  author  is  palpably  a  scholar,  an  ob 
server,  a  traveller,  who  has  gathered  all  the  world  knew  in  his 
day  of  astronomic  as  of  terrestrial  lore;  but  his  hero  is  a 
Chaldean  or  Hebrew  herdsman,  living  by  the  side  of  the 
great  Arabian  desert,  and  subject  to  the  mischances  and  sud 
den  reverses  which  constantly  threaten  and  frequently  befall 
the  shepherds  of  that  region,  even  in  our  own  day.  In  its 
magnificent  imagery,  as  well  as  in  its  characters  and  inci 
dents,  Job  is  the  simplest  and  grandest,  as  well  as  oldest,  of 
pastoral  poems. 

A  shepherd  boy,  keeping  his  flock  on  the  sterile  mountains 
of  Judea,  in  constant  peril  from  the  savage  beasts  and  not 
less  savage  men  of  the  desert,  — "  a  cunning  player  on  an 
harp,"  sought  out  by  King  Saul's  servants  to  expel  the  evil 
spirit  which  had  taken  possession  of  their  master  (alas  that 
the  evil  spirits  which  gain  control  of  rulers  cannot  always  be 
thus  exorcised  !),  —  a  battler  for  his  race  and  faith  and  native 
land,  volunteering  to  encounter,  while  still  a  mere  lad,  the 
giant  champion  of  their  mortal  foe,  and  vanquishing  him  in 
deadly  combat,  —  a  fugitive  from  the  jealous  madness  of  his 
royal  master,  into  whom  the  Evil  One  seems  to  have  again 
entered,  and  there  intrenched  -himself  beyond  dislodgement 


468  MISCELLANIES. 

by  the  powers  of  music,— a  needy  and  desperate  wanderer 
and  outlaw  for  years,  carrying  his  life  in  his  hand,  —  then 
the  anointed  monarch  and  idolized  hero  of  his  nation,  —  then 
dethroned  and  put  to  flight  by  the  ingratitude  and  perfidy  of 
his  favorite  son  and  the -fickle  levity  of  his  people,  —  again 
restored  to  a  throne  of  increasing  splendor,  and  dying  peace 
fully  and  regally  in  extreme  old  age,  at  the  summit  of  his 
power  and  glory,  —  if  I  were  required  to  name  that  one  who 
of  all  men  had  lived  the  most  arduous,  stirring,  eventful  life, 
most  full  of  violent  contrasts  and  trying  situations,  of  love 
and  war,  of  glory  and  humiliation,  I  must  say,  David,  king  of 
Israel     A  life  so  full  of  absorbing  action  would  seem  to  give 
little  chance  for  literary  culture  or  achievement ;  and  yet  this 
warrior  king,  who  could  not  be  permitted  to  build  the  Great 
Temple  to  his  God,  because  he  had  been  a  man  of  violence 
and  blood,  has  bequeathed  us  so  many  Psalms  in  which  the 
waiting,  contrite  souls  of  ages  so  remote  and  races  so  diverse 
as  ours  from  his  find  a  fuller  and  fitter  expression  of  their 
aspirations  and  their  needs  than  all  the  piety  and  genius  of 
intervening  ages  have  been  able  to  indite.     Yes,  this  untaught 
shepherd  son  of  Jesse,  this  leader  in  many  a  sanguinary  fight, 
this  man  of  a  thousand  faults  and  many  crimes,  knew  how 
to  sweep  the  chords  of  the  human  heart  as  few  or  none  have 
ever  touched  them  before  or  since,  —  to  take  that  heart,  with 
all  its  frailty,  its  error,  its  sin,  and  lay  it  penitently,  plead 
ingly,  at  the  footstool  of  its  Maker  and  Judge,  and  teach  it 
by°what  utterances,  in  what  spirit,  to  implore  forgiveness  and 
help.     Other  thrones  have  their  successions,  dynasties,  their 
races  of  occupants  ;   but   David   reigns   unchallenged  King 
of  Psalmody  till  Time  shall  be  no  more. 

Of  Greek  Poetry  I  have  a  right  to  say  but  little.  The 
general  impression  it  makes  on  me  is  that  of  youthfulness  on 
the  part  of  its  authors.  The  most  learned  among  us  do  not 
know  those  old  Greeks  very  well ;  and  I  am  often  impelled  to 
wonder  whether  the  versatile,  elastic,  cheating,  unreliable 
Greeks  of  our  day  are  not  lineal  descendants,  not  of  the 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  469 

Spartans,  perhaps,  but  of  the  Athenians  and  Argives  of  old ; 
whether  the  latter  did  not  hate  work  and  love  profit  as  much 
as  the  Fanariote  or  the  Greek  trader  of  our  time ;  nay, 
whether  the  Spartans  themselves,  plus  a  few  satisfactory 
floggings,  are  not  reproduced  in  the  warrior  mountaineers  of 
Albania  and  the  fierce  robber  bands  which  infest  the  passes 
and  plains  of  Thessaly.  True,  the  Athenian  of  to-day  is 
behind  the  citizens  of  Western  Europe  in  culture,  in  courage, 
and  in  most  manly  virtues ;  but  may  he  not  be  as  far  in 
advance  of  the  Western  Asiatic  of  Xerxes'  or  Darius' s  reign 
as  were  the  countrymen  of  Miltiades  or  Alexander  ?  Europe 
north  of  the  Alps  has  unquestionably  advanced;  may  not 
Greece  have  simply  stood  still,  instead  of  retrograding  ?  The 
solution  of  this  doubt  is  to  be  found,  not  in  the  prowess  nor 
the  physical  achievements  of  the  old  Greeks,  but  in  their 
literature,  arid  especially  their  tragedy. 

The  Greek  epic  held  substantially  the  place  of  the  modern 
novel ;  I  cannot  so  confidently  say  that  the  novel  fills  the 
place  of  the  epic.  The  epic  embodied  and  presented  human 
life  under  its  more  heroic  and  majestic  aspects,  —  the  life  of 
the  patriot,  ready  to  seal  his  devotion  with  his  blood.  Greek 
life,  as  depicted  by  Homer,  is  rude  and  sterile ;  its  pleasures, 
gross  and  sensual ;  its  gods,  men  and  women  endowed  with 
supernatural  powers,  but  not  at  all  distinguished  by  super 
natural  virtues.  It  would  be  very  rash  in  me  to  pronounce 
Homer  monotonous,  and  at  times  tedious,  when  the  scholars, 
who  know  him  so  much  better,  say  exactly  the  reverse  ;  so  I 
will  not  hazard  the  criticism,  though  I  shall  privately  cherish 
my  own  opinion.  I  wonder  if  any  one  else  ever  detected  or 
fancied  a  resemblance  between  the  roll  of  Homer's  heroes  and 
Catlin's  gallery  of  Indian  portraits  ? 

The  Epic  is  the  utterance  of  a  ruder  age  than  ours.  The 
scholar  still  praises  it,  — he  thinks  he  delights  in  it,  —  but  it 
is  the  delight  of  association,  of  comparison,  of  remembrance,  — 
not  of  direct  and  simple  enjoyment.  Who  ever  heard  of  an 
edition  of  the  Iliad  in  translation  being  required  by  the  un- 
classical  youth  of  Great  Britain,  of  this  or  of  any  other  mod- 


470  MISCELLANIES. 

ern  country  ?  I  apprehend  that,  for  each  copy  of  any  great 
epic  to  be  found  in  the  hands  or  under  the  pillow  of  the 
youth  in  all  our  common  schools,  you  may  find  ten  copies 
of  the  Arabian  Nights  or  of  certain  of  Dickens's  Novels. 
Only  by  those  who  have. been  impelled  to  study  them  as  a 
task  are  the  great  epics  still  read ;  and  by  these  rather  as  a 
habit  or  duty  than  as  a  genuine  pleasure. 

Yet  we  must  be  grateful  to  the  creators  of  the  Epic,  since 
to  them  are  we  indebted,  by  direct  transmission,  by  lineal 
descent,  for  Tragedy,  the  broadest,  the  deepest,  the  most  vivid, 
expression  of  human  emotions  and  aspirations.  ^Eschylus 
is  the  true  child  of  Homer,  and  that  grand  Athenian  stage 
whereon  the  passions,  the  impulses,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  the 
love,  piety,  guilt,  revenge,  remorse,  which  make  up  our 
strangely  compounded  Human  Nature,  were  depicted  so  in 
tensely  as  never  before  nor  since,  was  the  outgrowth  of  those 
lofty  and  stirring  narrations  wherewith  "  that  blind  old  man 
from  Scio's  rocky  isle"  was  wont  to  beguile  the  hours  and  in 
spire  the  hearts  of  the  ancestors  of  Pericles  and  Plato.  From 
the  goat-song  of  the  Mime,  the  cart  of  Thespis,  the  rude 
chant  of  the  ballad-singer,  the  monologue  of  the  legendary, 
the  dialogue  of  the  satirist,  was  rapidly  elaborated  that 
shapely  and  towering  fabric  of  Grecian  Tragedy  which  must 
awe,  delight,  and  instruct  mankind  through  ages  yet  to  be.  ^ 

The  argument  of  Tragedy  is  the  struggle  of  Man  with  Mis 
fortune,  —  the  spectacle  of  Virtue  enduring  the  buffets  of  Ad 
versity,  and  of  Crime  overtaken  by  the  shafts  of  Eetribution. 
But  Greek  Tragedy  essayed  a  loftier  flight  than  ours,  and  pre 
sented  the  suffering  but  undaunted  human  soul  enduring  and 
defying  the  bolts  of  Fate,  the  anger  of  the  immortal  gods. 
We  see  there  Guilt  hurried  irresistibly  to  its  awful  doom,  - 
inexorable  Nemesis  visiting  the  punishment  of  evil  deeds 
even  upon  the  grandchildren  and  great-grandchildren  of  the 
evil-doer,  — the  fair,  the  gentle,  and  the  good,  bowing  to  the 
destiny  invoked  by  the  sin  of  some  progenitor,  —  and  this  is 
not  unlike  what  experience  and  literature  have  elsewhere 
made  familiar ;  but  Prometheus,  chained  to  his  rock  and  suf- 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  471 

fering  the  tortures  of  the  damned  for  having  dared  to 
enlighten  and  bless  mankind,  yet  calm-souled  and  defiant, 
awaiting  the  unknown  but  inevitable  hour  which  shall  de 
throne  his  jealous  and  fearful  Olympian  tyrant,  and  bring 
him  deliverance  and  recompense,  this  is  a  conception  peculiar 
to  Greek  Tragedy,  and  the  lesson  of  stoical  endurance  and 
intellectual  force  taught  by  it  is  without  a  modern  parallel. 
Nor  must  we  rashly  conclude  that  the  great  tragic  poets  were 
irreverent  or  hostile  to  the  religion  of  their  age  and  race. 
Behind  the  fable  of  Prometheus  rests  the  grand,  eternal  truth, 
that  all  the  forces  of  the  universe  are  subject  to  the  moral 
law;  that  Good  is  the  measure  and  true  end  of  Power; 
that  tyranny  and  cruelty  would  still  be  what  they,  are  if 
their  responsible  author  were  armed  with  celestial  thunders ; 
that,  if  there  could  be  a  more  benignant  and  just  being 
than  the  Deity,  that  being  would  then  be  God. 

Let  me  venture  to  cite  one  passage  from  the  Agamemnon 
of  ^Eschylus  as  rendered  by  Bulwer  in  his  Athens,  —  not  one 
characteristic  of  Greek  Tragedy,  but  one  which  the  reader  of 
poetry  will  readily  contrast  with  familiar  passages  of  Scott 
and  Byron.  It  is  that  in  which  Clytemnestra  announces  to 
the  chorus  the  glad  tidings  of  the  capture  of  Troy,  —  said  ti 
dings  having  been  transmitted  by  the  good  old  fire-telegraph 
of  primitive  times  :  — 

"  A  gleam,  —  a  gleam  from  Ida's  height, 

By  the  fire-god  sent,  it  came ; 
From  watch  to  watch  it  leaped,  that  light, 

As  a  rider  rode  the  flame ! 
It  shot  through  the  startled  sky, 

And  the  torch  of  that  blazing  glory 
Old  Lemnos  caught  on  high, 

On  its  holy  promontory, 
And  sent  it  on,  the  jocund  sign, 

To  Athos,  mount  of  Jove  divine. 
Wildly  the  while  it  rose  from  the  isle, 

So  that  the  might  of  the  journeying  light 
Skimmed  over  the  back  of  the  gleaming  brine ! 

Farther  and  faster  speeds  it  on, 
Till  the  watch  that  keep  Macistus'  steep, — 

See  it  burst  like  a  blazing  sun ! 


472  MISCELLANIES. 

Doth  Macistus  sleep 

On  his  tower-clad  steep? 
No  !  rapid  and  red  doth  the  wild-fire  sweep. 
It  flashes  afar  on  the  wayward  stream 
Of  the  wild  Euripus,  the  rushing  beam ! 
It  rouses  the  light  on  Messapion's  height, 
And  they  feed  its  breath  with  the  withered  heath. 
But  it  may  not  stay  ! 
And  away,  —  away,  — 
It  bounds  in  its  freshening  might. 
Silent  and  soon, 
Like  a  broadened  moon, 
It  passes  in  sheen,  Asopus  green, 
And  bursts  on  Cithseron  gray. 
The  warder  wakes  to  the  signal  rays, 
And  it  swoops  from  the  hill  with  a  broader  blaze, 
On — on  the  fiery  glory  rode;  — 
Thy  lonely  lake,  Gorgopis,  glowed,  — 
To  M6gara's  mount  it  came ; 
They  feed  it  again, 
And  it  streams  amain,  — 
A  giant  beard  of  flame ! 
The  headlong  cliffs  that  darkly  down 
O'er  the  Saronic  waters  frown, 
Are  passed  with  the  swift  one's  lurid  stride, 
And  the  huge  rock  glares  on  the  glaring  tide, 
With  mightier  march  and  fiercer  power 
It  gained  Arachne's  neighboring  tower,  — 
Thence  on  our  Argive  roof  its  rest  it  won, 
Of  Ida's  fire  the  long-descended  son  ! 
Bright  harbinger  of  glory  and  of  joy ! 
So  first  and  last,  with  equal  honor  crowned, 
In  solemn  feasts,  the  race-torch  circles  round. 
And  these  my  heralds  !  this  my  Sign  of  Peace  ! 
Lo  !  while  we  breathe,  the  victor  lords  of  Greece 
Stalk,  in  stern  tumult,  through  the  halls  of  Troy !  " 

The  Eomans  were  never  a  poetic  people.  Epicureans,  who 
philosophized  in  verse,  like  Horace;  biting  satirists,  like 
Juvenal ;  happy  weavers  into  verse  of  legendary  lore,  like 
Virgil,  the  Longfellow  of  that  sole  age,  the  Augustan,  in 
which  Eoman  literature  seems  to  have  been  at  all  worthy  of 
the  mistress  of  the  civilized  world ;  concise,  critical,  caustic, 
pains-taking  annalists  the  Romans  were,  but  not  poets.  Their 
best  metrical  productions  have  a  second-hand  flavor;  they 
smell  of  the  lamp ;  they  would  have  been  different,  or  never 
have  been  at  all,  had  there  been  no  Greece. 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  473 

Brownson  says  certain  ages  are  termed  Dark,  because  we 
are  in  the  dark  with  regard  to  them.  Those  who  will  may 
assign  a  kindred  reason  for  my  assumption,  that  there  was  no 
poetry  worth  treasuring  and  praising  written  between  the 
Augustan  age  and  the  time  of  Dante,  and  that  one  needs  to 
be  at  least  as  good  a  Catholic  as  Dante  to  appreciate  and 
enjoy  the  Inferno. 

When  I  assume  that  English  Poetry  for  us  begins  with 
Shakespeare,  I  must  not  be  misunderstood.  That  there  is 
merit  of  a  certain  kind  in  Chaucer,  in  Spenser,  and  other 
British  rhymers  before  the  age  of  Queen  Bess,  is  of  course 
manifest.  But  who  in  our  day  ever  sat  down  to  read  Chaucer 
or  Spenser  otherwise  than  as  a  task,  —  something  requisite  to 
a  competent  knowledge  of  English  literature  ?  For  my  part, 
I  say  frankly  that  I  hold  The  Faery  Queene  a  bore,  and  never 
had  patience  to  complete  its  perusal.  Its  allegorical  repre 
sentations  of  our  good  and  evil  impulses  are  tedious,  fantastic, 
unreal,  insufferable.  They  probably  instructed  and  delighted 
the  generation  for  which  they  were  written ;  but  their  fra 
grance  has  departed.  Lay  them  respectfully,  tenderly  down 
to  their  long  rest,  and  let  the  gathering  dust  slowly  bury 
them  out  of  sight ! 

But  of  that  vast,  "  myriad-minded "  Shakespeare,  what 
shall  I  say  ?  True,  I  do  not  love  him ;  but  do  I  the  less  ap 
preciate  and  admire  his  intellectual  force  and  grandeur  ?  Be 
cause  I  profoundly  hate  his  Toryism,  shall  I  disparage  his 
unquestioned  and,  in  its  way  unequalled,  genius  ?  Because  I 
am  compelled  to  perceive  that  his  jokes  are  often  sorry  and 
his  puns  mainly  detestable,  must  I  be  presumed  to  deny  that 
his  humor  is  delicious  and  his  imaginative  faculty  beyond 
that  of  any  other  mortal  ?  By  no  means. 

I  am  provoked  by  his  ingrain  Toryism,  because  it  seems  at 
once  unnatural  and  irrational.  I  will  not  deny  that  the  mass 
of  men  are  base,  —  possibly  as  base  as  he  represents  them,  — 
I  will  only  insist  that  there  are  capacities,  possibilities,  in  this 
abused  nature  of  ours,  beyond  our  actual  achievement,  or  be 
yond  his  apprehension  of  that  achievement.  Even  if  it  were 


474  MISCELLANIES. 

otherwise,  he,  a  child  of  the  people,  the  son  of  a  woollen- 
draper,  should  not  have  been  first  to  discover  and  proclaim 
the  deplorable  fact.  Yet,  no  autocrat  born  in  the  purple  nour 
ished  a  more  profound  contempt  for  the  rabble,  the  canaille, 
the  oi  polloi,  than  this  vagabond  by  statute  and  venison-thief 
by  conviction.  In  his  game,  only  the  court-cards  count ;  all  the 
rest  go  for  nothing.  We,  the  untitled,  undistinguished  masses, 
are  not  merely  clowns  and  poltroons,  fit  only  for  butts  for 
knightly  jests,  and  hardly  good  enough  to  be  meat  for  knightly 
swords,  but  there  is  a  constant,  though  quiet,  assumption  that 
this,  as  it  ever  has  been,  must  continue  to  be  forever.  You 
would  naturally  suppose  that  grandest  event  in  modern  his 
tory,  the  discovery  of  the  Western  continent,  which  was  still 
recent  in  his  day,  and  which  must  have  been  the  theme  of 
many  a  conversation  in  his  presence  among  the  Kaleighs, 
Drakes,  and  other  daring  spirits  of  that  stirring  time,  who 
had  personally  visited  the  New  World,  would  have  inspired 
even  in  his  breast  some  hope  of  a  fairer  future  for  Humanity 
on  earth,  —  some  aspiration,  at  least,  for  a  Social  Order  wherein 
Kank  and  Wealth  should  not  be  everything,  and  Man  nothing, 
—  but  no  :  I  cannot  recall  even  a  passing  allusion  to  America, 
save  that  most  inaccurate  one,  "  the  still  vext  Bermoothes," 
and  never  once  an  intimation,  a  suspicion,  that  the  common 
lot  might  be  meliorated  through  the  influence  of  the  settle 
ment  and  civilization  of  this  side  of  the  globe.  Of  course, 
the  actor-manager-author  meant  no  disrespect  to  us  Anglo- 
Americans  in  prospect,  nor  yet  to  our  Franco- American  neigh 
bors  just  north,  nor  to  the  Spanish  and  Portuguese  Americans 
south  of  us  ;  it  was  only  a  way  he  had  of  viewing  everything 
with  an  eye  which,  though  it  oft,  "  in  fine  frenzy  rolling," 
might  "  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven," 
never  penetrated  laterally  much  beyond  the  fogs  of  Lon 
don  and  the  palace  of  Whitehall,  and  not  only  saw  in  the  mil 
lion  merely  the  counters  wherewith  kings  and  nobles  played 
their  gallant  game,  but  refused  to  see  in  them  the  possibility 
of  becoming  anything  better. 

WTiether  Shakespeare  the  monarchist  or  Milton  the  repub- 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  475 

lican  were  intellectually  the  greatest  Englishman  who  ever 
lived,  I  will  not  judge ;  but  none  can  doubt  that,  morally, 
Milton  was  by  far  the  superior.  His  purity  of  life  and  noble 
ness  of  aim ;  his  constancy  to  the  republican  cause  after  it 
had  been  irretrievably  ruined ;  in  short,  his  every  act  and 
word,  prove  his  immeasurably  the  nobler  nature.  Shake 
speare,  the  Tory  and  Courtier,  had  he  lived  an  age  later, 
could  never  have  dared  and  suffered  for  his  convictions  as 
Milton  did  for  his.  Nor,  though  he  has  written  many  finer 
passages,  which  have  found  ten  times  as  many  delighted 
readers  as  aught  of  Milton's  has  found,  or  perhaps  will  ever 
find,  can  I  recall  one  passage  from  Shakespeare,  which  does 
his  manhood  such  honor  as  is  reflected  on  Milton's  by  his  two 
sonnets  on  his  blindness,  which,  however  familiar,  I  shall 
make  no  apology  for  citing  :  — 

ON    HI  S    BLINDNE  S  S. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide; 

"  Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied  ?  " 

I  fondly  ask  :  But  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "  God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work  or  His  own  gifts  ;  who  best 

Bear  His  mild  yoke,  they  serve  Him  best :  His  state 

Is  kingly  ;  thousands  at  His  bidding  speed, 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 


TO    CYRIAC    SKINNER. 

Cyriac,  this  three  years,  day  these  eyes,  though  clear, 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot, 

Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 

Of  sun,  or  moon,  or  star,  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man,  or  woman.     Yet  I  argue  not 


476  MISCELLANIES. 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope ;  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 

Right  onward.     What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  1 

The  conscience,  Friend,  t'  have  lost  them  overplied 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 

Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain  mask 

Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide. 

Such  sentiments,  not  only  uttered  but  lived,  the  efflux  of 
a  serene,  majestic  soul,  which  calamity  could  not  daunt,  nor 
humiliation  depress,  not  merely  honor  our  common  nature,  — 
they  exalt  and  ennoble  it.  Shakespeare  could  no  more  have 
written  thus  of  himself  than  Milton  could  have  created  and 
gloated  over  the  character  of  Falstaff. 

Of  later  English  poets,  prior  to  those  of  the  reign  of  George 
III.,  I  regard  Pope  alone  as  deserving  of  remark ;  and  he  mainly 
because  of  the  unmeasured  eulogies  of  Byron  and  others,  who 
certainly  should  be  judges  of  poetry.  For  myself,  while 
esteeming  him  a  profound  philosopher  and  moralist,  and  the 
king  of  verse-makers,  I  should  hardly  account  him  a  poet  at 
all.  "  The  Eape  of  the  Lock  "  is  undoubtedly  a  clever  poem 
of  the  slighter  or  secondary  order ;  but  very  much  of  Pope's 
verse,  had  it  been  cast  in  the  mould  of  prose,  would  never 
have  struck  us  as  essentially  poetic.  For  all  the  poetry  they 
contain,  some  of  his  satirical  verses  might  better  have  taken 
the  form  of  prose,  not  to  speak  of  those  which,  for  the  sake  of 
decency,  had  better  not  been  written  at  all.  And  so  I  say  of 
Goldsmith,  Thomson,  Cowper,  Young,  and  their  British  co- 
temporaries  :  they  understood  the  knack  of  verse-writing ; 
they  did  well  what  they  undertook ;  their  effusions  —  "  The 
Deserted  Village,"  especially  —  may  still  be  read  with  a  mild 
and  temperate  enjoyment ;  but  a  thousand  such  bards  would 
never  have  created  a  National  Poetry,  —  never  have  produced 
anything  which  other  nations  would  eagerly  translate  and 
delightedly  treasure.  Essentially,  they  are  not  poets,  but  essay 
ists,  sometimes  moralists  or  sermonizers  ;  at  others,  romancers 
or  story-tellers ;  but  they  produced  nothing  which  mankind 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  477 

could  not  easily  spare.     Let  them  glimmer  awhile  in  their 
decent,  inoffensive  mediocrity,  then  sink  into  a  kind  oblivion. 

The  credit  of  ushering  in  the  brightest  era  of  British  Poetry 
belongs  to  the  Scotch  ploughman  and  rustic,  Eobert  Burns. 
This  man  of  many  faults  and  sins,  who  little  deemed  himself 
summoned  to  do  the  work  of  a  literary  reformer,  was  yet  fated 
to  brush  aside  the  sickly  sentimentalisms  and  fantastic  con 
ceits  of  an  artificial  age,  and  teach  Poetry  to  speak  once  more 
to  the  soul  in  accents  of  Truth  and  Nature.  At  the  sound  of 
his  honest,  manly,  burly  voice,  the  nymphs  and  goddesses,  the 
Chloes  and  Strephons,  of  a  dawdling  and  unreal  generation 
vanished,  and  Poetry  once  more  spoke  from  heart  to  heart  in 
her  own  unmuffled,  undisguised  voice,  and  was  joyfully  recog 
nized  and  welcomed.  I  know  that  citations  may  be  made 
from  Burns  which  would  seem  to  contradict  this  statement ; 
but  they  prove  only  that  he  was  at  times  fitfully  ensnared  by 
the  Delilahs  whose  sorceries  he  was  nevertheless  destined  to 
vanquish  and  conclude.  "  A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that,"  "  The 
Twa  Dogs,"  "  The  Cottar's  Saturday  Night,"  and  many  more 
such,  will  for  generations  be  read  and  admired  in  the  gas- 
lighted  drawing-room,  and  by  the  log-cabin  fireside,  as  vindi 
cations  of  the  essential  and  proper  nobility  of  Human  Nature, 
and  of  the  truth  that  virtue  and  vice,  worth  and  worthlessness, 
fame  and  shame,  are  divided  by  no  pecuniary,  no  social,  line 
of  demarcation,  but  may  each  be  found  in  the  palace  and  in 
the  hovel,  —  under  the  casque  of  a  noble  or  the  cap  of  a  boor. 
In  the  character  and  works  of  Kobert  Burns  is  the  first  answer 
of  the  dumb  millions  to  the  taunts  and  slurs  of  Shakespeare. 

The  great  French  Eevolution  —  if  I  should  not  rather  say, 
the  great  mental  world -re  volution  which  preceded  and  im 
pelled  the  French  —  ushered  in  a  new  era  in  Literature,  and 
especially  in  Poetry.  Burns  was  the  herald  or  forerunner  of 
this  era,  but  he  did  not  live  to  mark  its  advent. 

I  do  not  rank  Walter  Scott  with  the  poets  of  our  century. 
Though  chronologically  his  place  is  among  them,  he  belongs 


478  MISCELLANIES. 

essentially  to  another  epoch,  or  at  least  to  the  period  of  tran 
sition.  The  morning-star  of  this  era  was  Keats  ;  its  lurid  and 
oft-clouded  sun  was  Byron.  Keats  was  a  dreamy  and  sensi 
tive  youth,  whose  soul  found  in  poetry  its  natural  expression ; 
but  who  had  not  attained  the  maturity  of  his  genius,  the  per 
fection  of  his  utterance,  when  a  harsh  and  withering  criticism 
killed  him.  Byron  was  a  wild  and  dissolute  young  lord,  who 
had  made  one  tolerably  good,  and  many  weak,  if  not  inexcus 
ably  bad,  attempts  at  poetry,  when  a  severe  but  just  critique 
stung  him  to  madness,  and  his  wrath  and  bitterness  flashed 
and  glowed  into  enduring  verse.  His  indignation  was  vol 
canic  ;  but  the  lava  it  ejected  was  molten  gold,  —  sulphurous, 
as  volcanic  discharges  are  apt  to  be.  As  the  death-freighted 
thunderbolt,  which  often  stuns  and  slays,  has  been  known  to 
unseal  the  ears  of  the  deaf  and  the  reason  of  the  idiot,  so  the 
harsh  discipline  which  crushed  the  poet  Keats  made  a  poet 
of  the  second-rate  poetaster  Byron. 

When  I  assign  to  Byron  a  very  high,  if  not  the  highest, 
place  among  modern  English  poets,  I  will  only  ask  those  who 
differ  from  me  to  instance  another  whose  writings  have  been 
so  widely  read,  or  have  exerted  so  marked  an  influence  on  the 
age  in  which  they  appeared  and  the  generation  then  in  their 
teens.  I  do  not  commend  that  influence,  —  I  realize  that  it 
does  not,  on  the  whole,  conduce  to  a  more  confiding  faith  in 
either  God  or  man.  Byron's  poems,  equally  with  his  life, 
letters,  and  conversation,  excuse,  if  they  do  not  justify,  De 
Stael's  savage  characterization,  "  He  is  a  demon."  Eead  Cain 
and  Manfred  considerately,  then  take  up  Goethe's  "Faust," 
and  study  the  rdle  of  Mephistopheles,  and  you  will  be  tempted 
to  guess,  since  Goethe  could  not  well  have  modelled  his 
demon  after  Byron's  life,  that  Byron  must  have  modelled  his 
character  on  that  of  Goethe's  devil. 

It  would  be  a  difficult  task  to  write  an  honest  life  of  Byron 
that  would  be  adapted  to  the  use  of  Sunday  schools,  unless 
you  were  to  do  as  he  promised  in  the  opening  of  Don  Juan, 
but  failed  to  perform,  when  he  gave  out  that  his  story  would 
be  a  moral  one,  because,  before  he  ended  it,  he  meant  — 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  479 

"  to  show 
The  very  place  where  wicked  people  go." 

Yes,  this  sceptical,  cynical,  irreverent,  law-deriding  libertine 
Byron  has  made  his  mark  deeply  on  our  century,  and  not 
wholly  for  evil.  His  honest,  profound,  implacable  hatred  of 
tyranny  in  every  shape,  where  has  it  been  surpassed,  either 
in  intensity  or  in  efficacy  ?  Do  you  believe  Holy  Inquisitions 
and  other  machinery  for  torturing  and  killing  men  and  women 
for  the  honest  avowal  of  their  religious  convictions  could 
endure  another  year,  if  every  one  had  read  "  The  Prisoner  of 
Chillon  ? "  You  or  I  may  loathe  his  way  of  looking  at  the 
great  problem  of  Evil ;  but  tell  me  who  ever  presented  the 
argument  against  what  is  currently  termed  the  Evangelical 
view  of  this  problem  more  tersely,  strongly,  startlingly,  than 
he  has  done  in  "  Cain,  a  Mystery  "  ?  And  his  remark  that, 
"  if  Satan  is  to  be  allowed  to  talk  at  all,  you  must  not  expect 
him  to  talk  like  a  clergyman,"  is  obviously  just.  You  must 
let  him  fairly  present  his  view  of  "  the  great  argument,"  as 
Milton  does  not,  as  Byron  does,  but  with  too  manifest  a  lean 
ing  to  the  infernal  side.  Bind  up  "  Paradise  Lost "  and 
"  Cain "  in  one  volume,  and  you  will  have  therein  the  best 
condensed  statement  of  the  pro  and  con  of  the  theology  cur 
rently  accounted  Orthodox  or  Evangelical  that  can  be  found 
in  the  English  language. 

I  think  Moore  has  somewhere  said  before  me,  that  the 
Third  Canto  of  Childe  Harold  contains  some  of  the  noblest 
poetry  we  have.  Waterloo,  the  Alpine  thunder-storm,  and 
scores  of  passages  equally  vivid,  will  at  once  present  them 
selves  to  the  reader's  mind.  "  Description  is  my  forte,"  said 
Byron ;  and  Bayard  Taylor,  sailing  through  the  Adriatic  and 
the  jEgean,  along  the  rugged  coast  of  Dalmatia,  and  among 
the  ruin-strown,  yet  flower-mantled,  "Isles  of  Greece,"  re 
marks  that  he  finds  himself  continually  recalling  or  repeating 
the  descriptive  stanzas  of  Childe  Harold,  suggested  by  a 
similar  voyage  ;  for  nothing  else  could  so  truly,  forcibly,  aptly, 
embody  his  own  impressions  and  emotions.  Kemember  that 
Homer  and  .^Eschylus  had  gazed  on  much  of  this  same  pano- 


480  MISCELLANIES. 

rama,  and  written  from  minds  full  of  the  thoughts  it  excited, 
and  you  are  prepared  to  estimate  the  tribute  paid  by  our 
American  traveller  to  the  genius  of  Byron.  Let  me  quote  one 
familiar  passage  —  how  could  I  quote  any  that  is  not  familiar? 
-from  Manfred.  I  cite  that  respecting  the  Coliseum,  be 
cause,  having  myself  seen  the  moon  rise  through  its  ruined 
arches  while  Italian  devotees  were  praying  and  chanting 
within,  and  French  cavalry  prancing  and  manoeuvring  with 
out,  its  enormous  walls,  I  feel  its  force  more  vividly  than 
though  I  had  seen  this  mightiest  monument  of  ancient  Eome 
in  imagination  only.  Yet  what  could  I  say  of  that  grandest 
of  ruins  to  equal  this  ? 

"  MANFRED. 

"  The  stars  are  forth,  the  moon  above  the  tops 
Of  the  snow-shining  mountains.  — Beautiful ! 
I  linger  yet  with  Nature,  for  the  night 
Hath  been  to  me  a  more  familiar  face 
Than  that  of  man ;  and  in  her  starry  shade 
Of  dim  and  solitary  loveliness, 
I  learned  the  language  of  another  world. 
I  do  remember  me,  that  in  my  youth, 
When  I  was  wandering,  — upon  such  a  night 
I  stood  within  the  Coliseum's  walls, 
Midst  the  chief  relics  of  almighty  Rome ; 
The  trees  which  grew  along  the  broken  arches 
Waved  dark  in  the  blue  midnight,  and  the  stars 
Shone  through  the  rents  of  ruin  :  from  afar, 
The  watch-dog  bayed  beyond  the  Tiber ;  and, 
More  near,  from  out  the  Caesars'  palace  came 
The  owl's  long  crv,  and,  interruptedly, 
Of  distant  sentinels  the  fitful  song 
Began  and  died  upon  the  gentle  wind. 
Some  cypresses  beyond  the  time-worn  breach 
Appeared  to  skirt  the  horizon ;  yet  they  stood 
Within  a  bowshot.  —  Where  the  Caesars  dwelt, 
And  dwell  the  tuneless  birds  of  night,  amidst 
A  grove  which  springs  through  level  battlements, 
And  twines  its  roots  with  the  imperial  hearths, 
Ivy  usurps  the  laurel's  place  of  growth;  — 
But  the  gladiator's  bloody  circus  stands, 
A  noble  wreck,  in  ruinous  perfection  ! 
While  Caesar's  chambers,  and  the  Augustan  halls, 
Grovel  on  earth  in  indistinct  decay. — 
And  thou  didst  shine,  thou  rolling  moon,  upon 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  481 

All  this,  and  cast  a  wide  and  tender  light, 
Which  softened  down  the  hoar  austerity 
Of  rugged  desolation,  and  filled  up, 
As  't  were  anew,  the  gaps  of  centuries ; 
Leaving  that  beautiful  which  still  was  so, 
And  making  that  which  was  not,  till  the  place 
Became  religion,  and  the  heart  ran  o'er 
"With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old !  — 
The  dead  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns." 


Of  Coleridge,  Southey,  Campbell,  Eogers.  and  other  co- 
temporaries  of  Byron,  Wordsworth  excepted,  I  shall  say  very 
little.  Each  did  some  things  well ;  but,  beyond  a  few  stirring 
lyrics  by  Campbell,  and  perhaps  the  Christabel  and  Gene- 
vieve  of  Coleridge,  I  think  our  literature  could  spare  them  all 
without  irreparable  damage. 

Wordsworth's  ultimate  triumph  is  a  striking  proof  of  the 
virtue  of  tenacity.  Here  is  a  studious,  meditative  man,  of  no 
remarkable  original  powers,  who  quietly  says  to  himself,  "  In 
tensity  of  expression,  vehemence  of  epithet,  volcanic  passion, 
profusion  of  superlatives,  are  out  of  place  in  Poetry,  which 
should  embody  the  soul's  higher  and  purer  emotions  in  the 
simplest  and  directest  terms  which  the  language  affords."  So 
he  begins  to  write  and  the  critics  to  jeer,  but  he  calmly  per 
severes  ;  and,  when  it  is  settled  that  he  won't  stop  writing,  the 
critics  conclude  to  stop  jeering,  and  at  length  admit  that  he 
was  a  poet  all  the  while,  but  that  their  false  canons  or  per 
verted  tastes  precluded  their  discovery  of  the  fact  for  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century.  I  do  not  accept  Wordsworth's  theory,  —  I 
believe  there  are  ten  persons  born  each  year  who  are  fitted  to 
derive  both  pleasure  and  instruction  from  the  opposite  school 
to  one  who  can  really  delight  in  and  profit  by  the  bare,  tame 
affirmations  which  are  characteristic  of  Wordsworth  (for  he, 
like  the  founders  of  other  schools,  is  not  always  loyal  to  his 
own  creed),  —  but  that  Wordsworth's  protest  against  the  in 
tensity  of  the  Byronic  school  was  needed  and  wholesome,  I 
cannot  doubt. 

Yet  it  was  not  Wordsworth,  not  "  the  Lake  school,"  as  it 

31 


482  MISCELLANIES. 

was  oddly  designated,  that  led  and  inspired  the  reaction 
against  "  the  Satanic  school,"  so  called,  of  Poetry,  by  which 
the  later  morning  of  the  XlXth  century  was  so  mildly  irra 
diated.  The  credit  of  that  reaction  is  primarily  due  to  a 
woman,  —  to  Felicia  Hemans.  When  Byron,  still  young,  was 
dying  in  Greece  of  disappointment,  and  the  remorse  which  a 
wasted  life  engenders,  she  was  just  rising  into  fame  among 
the  purest  and  happiest  homes  of  England,  like  a  full  moon 
rising  calmly,  sweetly,  at  the  dewy  close  of  a  torrid  and  tem 
pestuous  day.  It  was  her  influence  that  hushed  the  troubled 
waves  of  doubt  and  defiance  and  unrest,  and  soothed  the 
heaving  breast  into  renewed  and  trusting  faith  in  virtue,  eter 
nity,  and  God. 

I  apprehend  that  Mrs.  Hemans  finds  fewer  readers,  with  far 
fewer  profound  admirers,  to-day  than  she  had  thirty  years 
ago ;  and  in  this  fact  there  is  a  strong  presumption  that  we, 
who  so  admired  her  then,  assigned  her  a  higher  station  than 
her  writings  will  maintain.     A  pure  and  lovely  woman,  un 
happy  in  her  domestic  relations,  and  nobly  struggling  by  lit 
erature  to  siibsist  and  educate  her  children,  is  very  apt  to 
arouse  a  chivulry,  among  readers  not  only,  but  critics,  that  is 
unfavorable  to  sternness  of  judgment.     I  would  gladly  be 
lieve  that  the  girls  of  1868  read  Mrs.  Hemans  as  generally, 
and  esteem  her  as  highly,  as  their  mothers  did  in  their  girl 
hood  ;  but  I  fear  their  brothers,  for  the  most  part,  neither 
read  nor  admire  her.     Let  me  venture,  therefore,  for  the  sake 
of  my  older  readers,  to  cite  one  of  her  minor  poems,  which 
must  recall  to  many  minds  hours  of  pure  and  tranquil  pleas 
ure  passed  in  the  perusal  of  the  author's  fresh  effusions.     For 
ty  years  ago,  had  you  opened  a  thousand  American  weekly 
newspapers,  —  presuming  that  so  many  then  existed,  —  you 
would  have  found  the  "  Poet's  Corner  "  of  at  least  one  third 
of  them  devoted  to  one  of  the  latest  productions  of  Mrs. 
Hemans,  and  not  one  fourth  so  many  given  up  to  the  verses 
of  any  other  person  whatever.     Now,  you  might  open  three 
thousand  journals  without  discovering  therein  even  her  name. 
Bryant,  Tennyson,  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lowell,  Holmes,  now 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  483 

fill  her  accustomed  place ;  as,  forty  years  hence,  alas  !  some 
fresher  favorites  will  fill  their  places.  So  flows  and  ebbs  this 
transitory  world  !  But  let  not  us,  her  old  admirers,  suffer  her 
name  to  drift  by  us  into  Oblivion's  murky  sea  without  a  part 
ing  cup  of  remembrance.  We  will  recall 

THE    ADOPTED    CHILD. 

"  Why  wouldst  thou  leave  me,  O  gentle  child  ? 
Thy  home  on  the  mountain  is  bleak  and  wild,  — 
A  straw-roofed  cabin,  with  lowly  wall ; 
Mine  is  a  fair  and  pillared  hall, 
Where  many  an  image  of  marble  gleams, 
And  the  sunshine  of  picture  forever  streams." 

"  0,  green  is  the  turf  where  my  brothers  play, 

Through  the  long,  bright  hours  of  the  Summer's  day  ! 

They  find  the  red  cup-moss  where  they  climb, 

And  they  chase  the  bee  o'er  the  scented  thyme, 

And  the  rocks  where  the  heath-flower  blooms  they  know  ; 

Lady,  kind  lady,  O  let  me  go." 

"  Content  thee,  boy !  in  my  bower  to  dwell  ; 
Here  are  sweet  sounds  which  thou  lovest  well : 
Flutes  on  the  air  in  the  stilly  noon, 
Harps  which  the  wandering  breezes  tune, 
And  the  silvery  wood-note  of  many  a  bird, 
Whose  voice  was  ne'er  in  thy  mountain  heard." 

"  O  !  my  mother  sings  at  the  twilight's  fall, 
A  song  of  the  hills  far  more  sweet  than  all ; 
She  sings  it  under  our  own  green  tree, 
To  the  babe  half  slumbering  on  her  knee  ; 
I  dreamt  last  night  of  that  music  low,  — 
Lady,  kind  lady  !  O,  let  me  go." 

"  Thy  mother  is  gone  from  her  cares  to  rest ; 
She  hath  taken  the  babe  on  her  quiet  breast ; 
Thou  wouldst  meet  her  footstep,  my  boy,  no  more, 
Nor  hear  her  song  at  the  cabin  door. 
Come  thou  with  me  to  the  vineyards  nigh, 
And  we  '11  pluck  the  grapes  of  the  richest  dye." 

"  Is  my  mother  gone  from  her  home  away  ? 
But  I  know  that  my  brothers  are  there  at  play  : 
I  know  they  are  gathering  the  foxglove's  bell, 
Or  the  long  fern-leaves  by  the  sparkling  well ; 


484  MISCELLANIES. 

Or  they  launch  their  boats  where  the  bright  streams  flow, 
Lady,  kind  lady  !  O,  let  me  go." 

"  Fair  child,  thy  brothers  are  wanderers  now; 
They  sport  no  more  on  the  mountain's  brow  ; 
They  have  left  the  fern  by  the  spring's  green  side, 
And  the  streams  where  the  fairy  barks  were  tied. 
Be  thou  at  peace  in  thv  brighter  lot ; 
For  thy  cabin  home  is  a  lonely  spot." 

"  Are  they  gone,  all  gone,  from  the  sunny  hill  ? 
But  the  bird  and  the  blue-fly  rove  over  it  still ; 
And  the  red-deer  bound  in  their  gladness  free ; 
And  the  heath  is  bent  bv  the  singing  bee, 
And  the  waters  leap,  and  the  fresh  winds  blow : 
Lady,  kind  lady  !  O,  let  me  go  !  " 

I  do  not  know  how  many  ever  suspected,  during  his  life, 
that  THOMAS  HOOD  was  a  poet  of  rare  and  lofty  powers.  I 
apprehend,  however,  that  they  were,  at  least  till  near  the  close 
of  his  career,  a  "  judicious  few,"  —  fewer,  even,  than  the  judi 
cious  are  apt  to  be.  For  this  true  bard  was  nevertheless  a 
man,  —  though  delicate  in  frame,  and  for  the  most  part  frail 
in  health,  he  had  physical  needs,  —  more  than  all,  he  had  a 
wife  and  children,  who  looked  to  him  for  daily  bread,  and 
must  not  look  in  vain.  Poet  as  he  was,  he  knew  that  man 
kind  not  only  stone  their  prophets  before  building  their  tombs, 
but  starve  their  poets  before  glorifying  them  ;  and  he  declined 
to  sacrifice  his  children's  bread  to  his  own  glory.  The  world 
would  not  pay  cash  down  for  poems,  but  freely  would  for  fun  ; 
so  he  chose  to  mint  his  golden  fancies  into  current  coin  that 
would  pass  readily  at  the  grocer's  and  baker's,  rather  than 
fashion  it  daintily  into  cameos  and  filigree-work,  which  he 
must  have  pledged  at  ruinous  rates  with  the  pawnbroker. 
And  we,  generation  of  blockheads  !  thought  him  a  rare  buf 
foon,  because  he  sported  the  cap  and  bells  in  our  presence, 
knowing  this,  though  by  no  means  the  best  thing  he  could  do, 
decidedly  that  for  which  we  would  pay  him  best.  If  his 
"  Whims  and  Oddities  "  imply  the  degradation  of  a  great  fac 
ulty,  is  not  the  fault,  the  shame,  rather  ours  than  his  ?  If 
a  modern  Orpheus  could  only  find  auditors  by  fiddling  for 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  485 

bacchanal  dancers  in  bar-rooms,  could  we  justly  reproach  him 
for  his  vulgar  tastes  and  low  associations  ? 

We  who  so  long  read  and  laughed  at  Hood's  puns  and 
quips,  —  read  and  only  laughed,  when  we  should  have  thought 
and  sighed,  —  we  might  have  seen,  if  we  had  sought  instruc 
tion,  and  not  mere  recreation,  that  a  great  moralist,  teacher, 
philanthropist;  an  earnest  hater  of  tyranny  and  wrong;  a 
warrior,  with  Damascus  blade,  on  cant,  and  meanness,  and 
servility,  —  was  addressing  us  in  parables  which  were  only 
wasted,  as  others'  parables  have  been,  because  our  ears  were 
too  gross,  our  understandings  too  dull  and  sordid,  to  perceive, 
or  even  seek,  their  deeper  meaning.  We  might  have  discerned 
the  lesson,  but  did  not,  because  the  laugh  sufficed  us. 

Have  I  seemed  to  regret  or  condemn  the  law  whereby  the 
true  poet  is  divorced  from  the  hope  of  gain  by  his  faculty  ? 
I  surely  did  not  mean  it.  Wisely,  kindly  devised  is  that 
Divine  ordinance,  "Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon." 
The  law  is  steadfast  and  eternal,  —  the  seeming  exceptions 
few  and  factitious.  The  greatest  benefactors  of  mankind  have 
waited  till  after  death  for  the  recognition  of  their  work  and 
their  worth.  If  to  speak  the  highest  truths  and  do  the  noblest 
deeds  were  the  sure  way  to  present  fame  and  pelf,  what  merit 
would  there  be  in  virtue,  what  place  for  heroism  on  earth  ? 
If  Poetry  were  the  Pennsylvania  Avenue  to  fortune  and  pres 
ent  fame,  how  could  our  earth  upbear  the  burden  of  her 
poets  ?  No :  it  were  better  for  Poetry  that  there  had  never 
been  a  Copyright  Law,  so  that  the  Poet's  utterances  were 
divorced  from  all  hope  of  pecuniary  recompense.  We  should 
then  have  had  far  fewer  poems,  perhaps,  but  not  half  the 
trouble  in  unburying  them  from  the  avalanche  of  pretentious 
rhythmical  rubbish  whereby  they  are  overlaid  and  concealed. 
Let  aspiring  youth  evermore  understand  that  writing  Poetry 
is  not  among  the  Divinely  appointed  means  for  overcoming 
a  dearth  of  potatoes.  I  do  not  say  that  potatoes  were  never 
gained  in  this  way,  though  I  doubt  that  any  were  ever  thus 
earned.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  am  quite  sure  that  no  one  ever 
undertook  to  write  Poetry  for  potatoes,  —  to  satisfy  his  per- 


486  MISCELLANIES. 

sonal  need  of  potatoes  by  writing  Poetry,  —  who  thereby  truly 
succeeded.  He  may  have  achieved  the  potatoes,  but  not  the 
Poetry.  So  Hood  did  manfully  and  well  in  writing  "  Whims 
and  Oddities"  for  a  livelihood,  and  Poetry  for  fame  alone. 
Do  you  suppose  the  hope  of  money  could  ever  have  impelled 
any  man  to  write  "  The  Song  of  the  Shirt "  ? 

Let  us  refresh  our  remembrance  of  him  with  the  simplest 
and  best-known  of  his  minor  effusions,  —  one  ten  thousand 
times  quoted,  familiar  to  almost  every  school-child,  yet  not 
worn  out,  because  it  cannot  be  :  — 

I  BEMEMBEB,  I  REMEMBEB. 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day ; 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  roses,  red  and  white, 

The  violets,  and  the  lily-cups,  — 

Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 

The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 

And  where  my  brother  set 

The  laburnum  on  his  birthday,  — 

The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 

And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing ; 

My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then, 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer-pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  fir-trees  dark  and  high  ; 

I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky. 

Tt  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  't  is  little  joy 

To  know  I  'm  farther  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  487 

How  many  years  is  it  since  he  who  is  England's  Laureate 
first  dawned  upon  us  ?  It  seems  to  me  scarcely  twenty ;  yet 
he  must  have  been  writing  and  printing  for  nearly  twice  that 
period.  It  is  a  slow  as  well  as  arduous  labor  for  even  excel 
lence  to  make  itself  felt  across  an  ocean ;  yet  I  believe  there 
are  to-day  as  many  Americans  as  Englishmen  who  honor  and 
delight  in  the  poems  of  Alfred  Tennyson.  One  of  their  best 
characteristics  is  the  carefulness,  the  evident  labor  and  ex 
treme  polish,  with  which  they  are  produced.  After  thirty  years 
devoted  to  Poetry,  —  almost  exclusively,  I  believe,  —  his  writ 
ings  may  all  be  compressed  within  a  moderate  volume.  In 
an  age  when  many  a  by  no  means  old  man  has  turned  out 
his  twenty  volumes,  and  many  a  Miss  in  her  teens  has  nearly 
finished  her  third  novel,  this  is  a  virtue  indeed  to  be  com 
mended.  To  one  who  has  achieved  the  public  ear — for 
whose  future  issues  eager  publishers  have  checks  of  generous 
amount  ready  to  be  exchanged  for  the  unread  manuscript  — 
the  temptation  to  overwrite  is  hard  to  be  resisted.  Poets 
are  popularly  supposed  to  be,  as  a  class,  neither  rich  nor 
frugal ;  the  more  honor,  then,  to  one  who  refuses  to  dilute  his 
nectar  like  a  milkman  to  whom  the  pump  is  convenient.  I 
was  deeply  interested  in  Bayard  Taylor's  anecdote  of  the 
German  poet  Uhland,  when  in  a  green  old  age,  who,  to  the 
traveller's  natural  inquiry  as  to  what  work  he  was  now  com 
posing  or  meditating,  replied  that  he  had  not  recently  felt 
constrained  to  write  anything,  —  in  other  words,  that  nothing 
now  pressed  upon  his  mind  for  utterance  with  irresistible 
force.  Would  that  authors,  as  a  class,  could  truly  say  that 
they  write  only  under  the  spur  of  thoughts  burning  for  ex 
pression,  —  not  of  appetites  clamoring  for  satisfaction. 

Though  Tennyson  has  written  sparingly,  he  has  yet  covered 
much  ground.  "  In  Memoriam,"  "  The  Princess,"  "  Maud," 
- 1  hardly  know  who  in  our  day  has  produced  three  poems 
so  unlike,  yet  each  so  excellent.  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  prob 
ably  the  best  expression  of  a  profound  and  lasting,  yet  tem 
perate  and  submissive,  sorrow  to  be  found  in  our  language. 
Yet  his  minor  poems  had  made  him  a  world- wide  reputation 


488  MISCELLANIES. 

—  made  him  the  Queen's  Laureate  —  before  one  of  these  was 
written,  at  least  before  it  was  published.  And  they  are 
worthy  of  their  fame.  So  rich  and  pure  in  imagery,  so 
dainty  and  felicitous  in  expression,  so  musical  and  mel 
lifluous  in  their  rhythm  and  cadence,  —  they  are  rightly 
ranked  among  the  gems  of  English  literature.  Let  me  cite  a 
part  of  one  of  them  which  is  not  the  most  popular,  but  which 
seems  to  me  among  the  happiest.  The  fable,  if  fable  it  be, 
that  eating  the  lotus  brings  forgetfulness  of  care,  answering 
almost  to  the  old  Greek's  draught  from  Lethe,  is  not  novel ; 
but  who  before  has  ever  treated  it  so  well  as  this  ? 

THE    LOTUS-EATERS. 

i. 

"  Courage  !  "  he  said,  and  pointed  tow'rd  the  strand  ; 
"  This  mounting  wave  will  roll  us  shoreward  soon/' 
In  the  afternoon,  they  came  unto  a  land 
In  which  it  seeme'd  always  afternoon. 
All  'round  the  coast,  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon  ; 
And,  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

n. 

A  land  of  streams  !  some,  like  a  downward  smoke, 

Slow-dropping  vails  of  thinnest  lawn,  did  go ; 

And  some  through  wav'ring  lights  and  shadows  broke, 

Rolling  a  slumb'rous  sheet  of  foam  below. 

They  saw  the  gleaming  river  seaward  flow 

From  th'  inner  land  :  far  off,  three  mountain-tops, 

Three  silent  pinnacles  of  aged  snow, 

Stood  sunset-flushed  :  and,  dewed  with  showery  drops, 

Up-clomb  the  shadowy  pine  above  the  woven  copse. 

in. 

The  charmed  sunset  lingered  low  adown 
In  the  red  West :  through  mountain-clefts,  the  dale 
Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 
Bordered  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 
And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale ; 
A  land  where  all  things  always  seem'd  the  same  ! 
And  'round  about  the  keel,  with  faces  pale, 
Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 
The  mild-eyed,  melancholy  Lotus-eaters  came. 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  489 

IV. 

Branches  they  bore  of  that  enchanted  stem, 
Laden  with  flower  and  fruit,  whereof  they  gave 
To  each  ;  but  whoso  did  receive  of  them, 
And  taste,  to  him  the  gushing  of  the  wave 
Far,  far  away  did  seem  to  moan  and  rave 
On  alien  shores ;  and  if  his  fellow  spake, 
His  voice  was  thin,  as  voices  from  the  grave ; 
And  deep-asleep  he  seemed,  yet  all  awake, 
And  music  in  his  ears  his  beating  heart  did  make. 

v. 

They  sat  them  down  upon  the  yellow  sand, 
Between  the  sun  and  moon,  upon  the  shore ; 
And  sweet  it  was  to  dream  of  Father-land, 
Of  child  and  wife  and  slave  ;  but  evermore 
Most  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  some  one  said,  "  We  will  return  no  more  "  ; 
And  all  at  once  they  sang,  "Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave  ;  we  will  no  longer  roam." 
*  *  *  *  * 

Of  Eobert  Browning  the  reading  public  knows  too  little ; 
it  shall  yet  know  more.  Even  in  England,  I  found  few 
whose  delight  in  him  equalled  my  own ;  and  I  fairly  startled 
judicious  friends  by  insisting  that  he  is  not  inferior,  on  the 
whole,  to  Tennyson.  But  there  are  obvious  reasons  why  this 
prophet  should  be  denied  honor  in  his  own  country  of  all 
others.  For  Browning's  verse  too  often  lacks  clearness  ;  his 
fancies  are  piled  one  upon  another  in  wild  confusion ;  he  is 
fitfully  fantastic  and  mystical ;  and  John  Bull  has,  of  all  men, 
the  most  intense  aversion  to  what  is  called  Transcendent 
alism.  There  is  an  anecdote  afloat  of  Douglas  Jerrold  meet- 

o 

ing  a  friend  in  the  street  soon  after  Browning's  "  Sordello  " 
was  issued,  and  thrusting  the  book  into  his  hands  with  the 
fierce  command,  rather  than  entreaty,  "  Kead  that ! "  The 
puzzled  friend  read  a  few  lines  of  the  opening,  and  de 
sisted,  with  the  remark,  "Why,  this  is  rank  nonsense!" 
"  0,  thank  God  ! "  exclaimed  Jerrold  ;  "  then  I  am  not  mad  ! 
I  was  sure,  if  that  was  sense,  that  I  ought  to  be  sent  to  Bed 
lam  at  once."  Another  anecdote  makes  Browning  gravely 
relate  to  an  intimate  friend  that  he  had  tested  in  Sordello  a 
favorite  theory,  by  omitting  in  the  published  copy  each  alter- 


490  MISCELLANIES. 

nate  line  of  the  poem  as  written ;  but  he  candidly  added,  the 
experiment  was  a  failure. 

Browning's  best  issue  was  that  which  opens  with  "The 
Blot  on  the  Scutcheon/'  and  contains  "  Pippa  Passes," 
"Luria,"  and  "Paracelsus."  The  first-named  is  one  of  the 
purest,  sweetest,  most  affecting  dramatic  poems  in  our  litera 
ture  ;  the  action  hastens  to  its  catastrophe  as  resistlessly  as, 
and  more  naturally  than,  that  of  Hamlet  or  Macbeth ;  and 
the  heroine's  dying  wail  over  her  lost  innocence,  her  early 
doom,  — 

"  I  had  no  mother,  —  God 
Forsook  me,  —  and  I  fell," 

has  a  condensed  force  and  pathos  rarely  exceeded. 

I  am  apt  to  have  little  sympathy  with  the  complaint  that 
an  author  is  obscure.  It  very  often  implies  only  indolence 
and  lack  of  earnestness  in  the  complainant.  We  are  prone 
to  read  too  drowsily,  and  expect  writers  to  spell  out  their 
meaning  to  us,  as  if  we  were  four-year-olds,  still  busy  with 
our  "  a-b-abs  "  and  "  baker."  There  is  an  anecdote  current  to 
this  effect,  that  when  Emerson  first  began  to  lecture  transcen 
dental-wise  in  Boston,  one  of  his  most  constant  auditors  was 
the  able  and  veteran  conservative  lawyer,  Jeremiah  Mason, 
accompanied  by  his  daughters.  His  brethren  at  the  bar 
were  puzzled  by  this  addiction  on  the  part  of  so  distinguished 
a  conservative,  and  wonderingly  inquired  of  him  whether  he 
understood  what  Emerson  uttered.  He  candidly  responded 
that  he  did  not ;  but  added  that  his  daughters  (girls  of  thirteen 
and  fifteen)  understood  it  perfectly.  There  was  probably  more 
truth  in  this  reply  than  was  intended.  The  kingdom  of 
heaven  stands  not  alone  in  being  easier  of  access  to  little 
children  than  to  adults.  Comprehension  is  not  the  result  of 
knowledge  solely,  but  of  receptivity,  of  sympathy.  It  was 
not  nearly  so  easy  for  the  old  lawyer  as  for  the  young  damsels 
to  attain  the  same  plane  of  thought  with  the  lecturer,  and  to 
travel  in  the  same  direction.  He  might  possibly  have  learned 
more  had  he  been  less  wise. 

Yet  it  is  deplorably  true  that  our  newest  literature  too 
often  lacks  simplicity,  lucidity,  straightforwardness.  It  speaks 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  491 

in  riddles,  when  it  should  be  natural,  direct,  and  open  as  the 
day.  Carlyle  is  not  half  so  obscure  as  his  contemners  declare 
him ;  yet  his  "  Sartor  Eesartus  "  cannot  be  thoroughly  mas 
tered  and  enjoyed  by  the  average  reader  short  of  three  or  four 
perusals ;  and  how  many  will  have  patience  to  give  it  that 
number  ?  Whatever  requires  so  many  involves  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge  under  difficulties.  Emerson,  though  he  is  no 
longer  opaque,  did  formerly  try  the  patience,  as  well  as  the 
discernment,  of  his  admirers  ;  and  I  can  quite  credit  the  story 
told  of  one  who  stopped  him  in  the  street  and  recited  a  pas 
sage  from  one  of  his  essays,  asking  what  he  meant  by  it ;  to 
which  the  author  of  "  Brahma "  and  "  The  Sphinx,"  after 
pondering  the  passage  a  moment,  calmly  replied  that  he  cer 
tainly  had  a  meaning  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  that  sen 
tence,  though  it  had  now  unfortunately  escaped  him.  But 
Browning's  fault  seems  to  inhere  rather  in  utterance  than  in 
conception;  his  mind  is  full  of  materials  ill  stowed,  which 
come  rushing  against  and  trampling  over  each  other  when 
summoned  to  daylight,  and  so  choke  the  aperture  and  prevent 
egress,  or  rush  forth  an  incpngruous,  confused  mass,  muddily 
sweeping  all  before  them.  His  later  writings  are  half  spoiled 
by  this  chaotic  whirl,  and  are  thence  inferior  on  the  whole 
to  their  immediate  predecessors.  Yet  what  a  wealth  of  allu 
sion,  a  mine  of  meaning,  a  daguerreotype  of  the  intellectual 
tendencies  of  the  age,  are  found  in  "Bishop  Blougram's 
Apology "  !  And  what  have  we  clearer  and  purer  in  our 


language  than  this  ? 


EVELYN  HOPE. 


Beautiful  Evelyn  Hope  is  dead ! 

Sit  and  watch  by  her  side  an  hour. 
That  is  her  book-shelf,  this  her  bed ; 

She  plucked  that  piece  of  geranium  flower, 
Beginning  to  die,  too,  in  the  glass. 

Little  has  yet  been  changed,  I  think ; 
The  shutters  are  shut ;  no  light  may  pass, 

Save  two  long  rays  through  the  hinges'  chink. 

Sixteen  years  old  Avhen  she  died  ! 
Perhaps  she  had  scarcely  heard  my  name,  — 


492  MISCELLANIES. 

It  was  not  her  time  to  love ;  beside, 

Her  life  had  many  a  hope  and  aim  ; 
Duties  enough,  and  little  cares, 

And  now  was  quiet,  now  astir, 
Till  God's  hand  beckoned  unawares, 

And  the  sweet  white  brow  is  all  of  her. 

Is  it  too  late,  then,  Evelyn  Hope  ? 

What !  your  soul  was  pure  and  true ; 
The  good  stars  met  in  your  horoscope, 

Made  you  of  spirit,  fire,  and  dew,  — 
And,  just  because  I  was  thrice  as  old, 

And  our  paths  in  the  world  diverged  so  wide, 
Each  was  nought  to  each,  must  I  be  told  ? 

We  were  fellow-mortals,  nought  beside  ? 

No,  indeed  !  for  God  above 

Is  great  to  grant,  as  mighty  to  make, 
And  creates  the  love  to  reward  the  love,  — 

I  claim  you  still,  for  my  own  love's  sake ! 
Delayed,  it  may  be,  for  more  lives  yet, 

Through  worlds  I  shall  traverse,  not  a  few ; 
Much  is  to  learn  and  much  to  forget, 

Ere  the  time  be  come  for  taking  you. 

But  the  time  will  come,  —  at  last  it  will, 

When,  Evelyn  Hope,  what  meant,  I  shall  say, 
In  the  lower  earth,  in  the  years  long  still, 

That  body  and  soul  so  pure  and  gay ; 
Why  your  hair  was  amber,  I  shall  divine, 

And  vour  mouth  of  your  own  geranium's  red,  — 
And  what  you  would  do  with  me,  in  fine, 

In  the  new  life  come  in  the  old  one's  stead. 

I  have  lived,  I  shall  say,  so  much  since  then, 

Given  up  myself  so  many  times  ; 
Gained  by  the  gains  of  various  men, 

Ransacked  the  ages,  spoiled  the  climes  : 
Yet  one  thing  —  one  —  in  my  soul's  full  scope, 

Either  I  missed  or  itself  missed  me, — 
And  I  want  and  find  you,  Evelyn  Hope  ! 

What  is  the  issue  ?  let  us  see ! 

I  loved  you,  Evelyn,  all  the  while, 

My  heart  seemed  full  as  it  could  hold,  — 
There  Avas  place  and  to  spare  for  the  frank  young  smile, 

And  the  red  young  mouth,  and  the  hair's  young  gold. 
So,  hush !  —  I  will  give  you  this  leaf  to  keep  — 

See,  I  shut  it  inside  the  sweet,  cold  hand  ; 
There  —  that  is  our  secret !  go  to  sleep  ; 

You  will  wake,  and  remember,  and  understand. 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  493 

I  envy  the  biographer  of  Kobert  and  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning.  Twenty  years  ago  they  were  poets,  unknown  to 
each  other,  undistinguished  ;  he  poor,  and  each  by  no  means 
young.  I  have  heard  that  their  first  acquaintance  came 
through  their  published  works,  which  revealed  a  sympathy 
destined  to  make  them  one  forever.  Eeversing  the  usual 
order,  they  loved,  they  became  personally  acquainted,  and 
were  married.  Thenceforward,  each  wrote  better,  more  ac 
ceptably,  —  in  the  main,  more  lucidly,  —  than  before  ;  wrote, 
doubtless,  by  the  help  of  the  other's  happy  suggestions  as  well 
as  loving  criticisms.  And  so  each  won  larger  and  still  widen 
ing  audience,  and  more  generous  appreciation,  and  ampler 
recompense ;  and  a  fair  son  was  born  to  them ;  and  a  wealthy 
friend,  nowise  related  to  either,  left  them  a  modest  fortune ; 
and  they  spent  their  wedded  years  partly  in  their  native 
England  and  partly  in  their  beloved  Florence,  which  inspired 
both  of  them,  but  especially  the  wife,  with  some  of  her  noblest 
and  most  enduring  poems,  — "  Casa  Guidi  Windows  "  for 
instance,  and  "  Aurora  Leigh,"  —  and  there,  I  believe,  she 
died,  leaving  her  husband  and  son  not  to  lament,  but  to 
rejoice  over  and  thank  God  for,  the  abiding  memory  of  her 
worth  and  her  love. 

I  close  this  hurried  survey  without  having  attempted  to  con 
sider  the  claims  of  any  among  our  countrymen  to  the  character 
and  designation  of  Poets.  I  should  prefer  to  consider  Amer 
ican  Poetry  by  itself,  and  in  its  relations  to  that  which  pre 
ceded  and  that  which  is  cotemporary  with  it.  In  so  doing, 
we  should  find,  I  judge,  that,  while  it  has  grave  faults,  —  faults 
of  imitation,  of  poverty,  of  crudity,  of  exaggeration,  —  it  has 
decided  merits  and  excellences  also,  —  merits  not  only  emi 
nent  in  themselves,  but  such  as  give  promise  of  still  loftier 
achievement  in  the  future.  If  we  have  contributed  our  full 
share  to  the  bounteous  Anglo-Saxon  stock  of  shallow  and 
sham  poetry,  we  have  also  contributed  our  full  quota  —  con 
sidering  our  youth  as  a  nation,  and  our  prosaic  preoccupa 
tions,  our  lack  of  leisure,  and  of  the  highest  intellectual  cul 
ture  —  to  that  which  the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die.  I 


494  MISCELLANIES. 

waive  this  discussion  for  the  present,  however,  and  close  with 
a  more  direct  consideration  of  the  problem,  "What  is  the 
essential  nature  and  true  office  of  Poetry  ? " 

Of  course,  I  need  waste  no  more  time  on  the  pitiable  igno 
rance  which  confounds  Poetry  with  Verse,  —  the  eternal  es 
sence  with  the  occasional  form  or  garb,  —  though  this  delusion 
has  still  many  votaries,  —  I  might  say,  victims.  The  young 
lady  who  corrected  a  friend's  allusion  to  Shakespeare  as  a  Poet 
with  the  smilingly  confident  assurance  that  his  plays  were  not 
poetry,  not  being  rhymed,  has  still  sharers  in  her  sad  misap 
prehension.  Poetry  is  at  least  four  thousand  years  old,  —  as 
old  as  extant  literature,  if  not  older;  while  Pthyme,  I  sus 
pect,  can  hardly  be  traced  beyond  the  time  of  the  Troubadours 
of  western  and  southern  Europe,  in  the  days  of  the  Crusades, 
Verse,  Metre,  or  Ehythm  is  of  course  much  older.  I  pre 
sume  some  rude  trace  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  very  oldest 
writings  extant,  —  the  chant  or  speech  in  Genesis  of  Lamech 
to  his  wives,  for  instance,  and  the  oldest  Hindoo  or  Chinese 
Poems.  But,  though  it  may  seem  natural,  and  almost  neces 
sary,  that  poetic  utterances  should  flow  into  harmonious  or 
rhythmical  numbers,  this  is  not  inevitable.  Chateaubriand, 
one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  the  last  generation,  wrote  rarely  in 
verse.  Willis  has  written  good  verses,  but  his  finest  poem  is 
rt  Unwritten  Music," —  in  structure,  a  prose  essay.  That  Ehyme 
is  not  essential  to  Poetry,  all  probably  know  who  clearly  know 
anything ;  but  that  measured  and  duly  accented  lines,  eacli 
beginning  with  a  capital  letter,  do  not  constitute  Poetry, 
though  it  may  be  generally,  is  by  no  means  universally  un 
derstood.  But  we  cannot  define  by  negations  alone  ;  and  the 
question  still  recurs,  What  is  Poetry  ? 

I  understand  by  Poetry  that  mode  of  expression  or  aver 
ment  which  lifts  the  soul  above  the  region  of  mere  sense,  — 
which  reaches  beyond  the  merely  physical  or  mechanical  as 
pects  of  the  truth  affirmed,  and  apprehends  that  truth  in  its 
universal  character  and  all-pervading  relations,  so  that  our 
own  natures  are  exalted  and  purified  by  its  contemplation. 
For  instance,  I  affirm  that  the  Creation  was  a  wondrous,  be- 


POETS  AND  POETRY.  495 

neficent  work,  which  all  intelligent,  moral  beings  cognizant 
thereof  must  have  regarded  with  admiration,  but  that  the 
plans  and  purposes  of  God  are  entirely  above  the  comprehen 
sion  of  Man,  —  that  is  plain  prose.  Now  let  us  see  a  poetic 
statement  of  that  same  truth,  and  mark  its  immensely  supe 
rior  vividness  and  force  :  — 

"  Then  the  Lord  answered  Job  out  of  a  whirlwind,  and  said,  — 
Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ? 
Declare,  if  thou  hast  understanding ! 
Who  hath  laid  the  measures  thereof?   if  thou  knowest? 
Or  who  hath  stretched  the  line  upon  it  ? 
Whereupon  are  the  foundations  thereof  fastened  1 
Or  who  laid  the  corner-stone  thereof,  — 
When  the  morning  stars  sang  together, 
And  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ?  " 

Or  I  am  impelled  to  observe  that  the  creations  of  the  mind, 
unlike  all  corporeal  existences,  are  essentially  indestructible, 
and  so  fitted  to  abide  and  exert  influence  forever,  —  that  is  a 
prosaic  statement  of  an  obvious  fact ;  let  us  note  how  Byron 
presents  it  in  poetry  :  — 

"  The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay  ; 
Essentially  immortal,  they  create 
And  multiply  in  us  a  brighter  ray, 
And  more  beloved  existence — that  which  Fate 
Prohibits  to  dull  life  in  this  our  state  — 
Of  mortal  bondage,  by  these  spirits  supplied 
First  exiles,  then  replaces,  what  we  hate, 
Watering  the  hearts  whose  early  flowers  have  died, 
And  with  a  greener  growth  replenishing  the  void." 

Or  I  observe  that  the  midnight  thunder,  during  a  violent 
Summer  tempest,  is  echoed  from  mountain-top  to  mountain- 
top,  forming  a  chorus  of  awful  sublimity ;  but  the  poet  seizes 
the  thought,  and  fuses  it  in  the  glowing  alembic  of  his  num 
bers  thus :  — 

"  Far  along, 
From  crag  to  crag  the  rattling  peaks  among, 

Leaps  the  live  thunder,  —  not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue ; 
And  Jura  answers,  through  his  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  that  call  to  her  aloud." 


496  MISCELLANIES. 

Such  instances  speak  more  clearly  than  the  plainest  or  the 
subtlest  definitions.  They  show  that,  to  the  poetic  concep 
tion,  Nature  is  no  huge  aggregation  of  senseless  matter, 
warmed  into  fitful  vitality  by  sunbeams  only  to  die  and  be 
resolved  into  its  elements,  but  a  living,  conscious,  vital  uni 
verse,  quivering  with  deathless  aspiration  because  animated 
by  the  breath  of  God. 

Nor  must  we  regard  Poetry  merely  as  an  intellectual 
achievement,  —  a  trophy  of  human  genius,  an  utterance  from 
the  heart  of  Nature,  fitted  to  solace  its  votaries  and  strengthen 
them  for  the  battle  of  Life.  Poetry  is  essentially,  inevitably, 
the  friend  of  Virtue  and  Merit,  the  foe  of  Oppression  and 
Wrong,  the  champion  of  Justice  and  Freedom.  Wherever 
the  good  suffer  from  the  machinations  and  malevolence  of  the 
evil,  —  wherever  Vice  riots,  or  Corruption  festers,  or  Tyranny 
afflicts  and  degrades,  there  Poetry  is  heard  as  an  accusing 
angel,  and  her  breath  sounds  the  trump  of  impending  doom. 
She  cannot  be  suborned  nor  perverted  to  the  service  of  the 
powers  of  darkness  :  a  Dante  or  a  Korner,  lured  or  bribed  to 
sing  the  praises  of  a  despot;  or  glorify  the  achievements  of  an 
Alva  or  a  Cortes,  could  only  stammer  out  feeble,  halting  stan 
zas,  which  mankind  would  first  despise,  then  compassionately 
forget.  But  to  the  patriot  in  his  exile,  the  slave  in  his  unjust 
bondage,  the  martyr  at  the  stake,  the  voice  of  Poetry  comes 
freighted  with  hope  and  cheer,  giving  assurance  that,  while 
Evil  is  but  for  a  moment,  Good  is  for  ever  and  ever ;  that  all 
the  forces  of  the  Universe  are  at  last  on  the  side  of  Justice ; 
that  the  seeming  triumphs  of  Iniquity  are  but  a  mirage, 
Divinely  permitted  to  test  our  virtue  and  our  faith ;  and 
that  all  things  work  together  to  fulfil  the  counsels  and  estab 
lish  the  kingdom  of  the  all-seeing  and  omnipotent  God. 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS. 


THIS  hard,  cold,  rocky  planet,  on  whose  surface  we  exist, 
toward  whose  centre  we  gravitate,  seems  to  evince  but 
a  nigged  and  wayward  kindness  for  her  step-child,  Man. 
Even  to  the  savage,  whom  she  takes  to  her  rough  breast  with 
some  show  of  maternal  fondness,  she  says,  "Take  your 
chance  with  my  varying  moods,  —  to-day,  sunshine,  flowers, 
and  bounty ;  to-morrow,  wintry  blasts,  bare  hills,  and  desti 
tution."  What  wonder  if  the  poor  Esquimaux,  shivering  in 
his  foodless  lodge,  which  bleak  wastes  of  drifting  snow  envi 
ron,  should  misread  even  the  serenely  benignant  skies,  and 
fancy  that  diabolic  was  at  least  equally  potent  with  Divine 
agency  in  creating  such  a  world  ? 

To  civilized  man,  unless  fenced  about  and  shielded  by  that 
purely  artificial  creation  we  term  Property,  Nature  presents  a 
still  sterner  aspect.  He  may  know,  even  better  than  the 
savage,  how  to  extract  sustenance  and  comfort  from  the  ele 
ments  everywhere  surrounding  him ;  but  he  finds  those  ele 
ments  appropriated,  —  monopolized,  —  tabooed,  —  the  private, 
exclusive  possessions  of  a  minority.  To  cut  in  the  forest  a 
dead,  decaying  tree,  wherewith  to  warm  his  shivering,  scarce- 
clad  limbs,  —  to  dig  edible  roots  from  the  swamp,  or  gather 
berries  from  the  beetling  crag  to  stay  his  gnawing  hunger,  — 
is  a  trespass  on  the  rights  of  some  proprietor,  property-owner, 
landlord,  which  legally  subjects  him  to  the  assiduous  but  dis- 
agreeable  attentions  of  the  justice  and  the  constable.  Doomed 
to  fight  his  way  through  this  thorny  jungle,  he  finds  the  weap 
ons  all  chained  out  of  his  reach,  or  pointed  against  him.  Born 
32 


498  MISCELLANIES. 

into  a  state  of  war,  he  must  first  forge  or  buy  the  requisite  im 
plements  for  the  fray,  though  his  adversaries  are  under  no  sort 
of  obligation  to  wait  till  he  is  ready.  The  fertile  prairie 
often  produces  sour,  ungenial  grasses  ;  and  the  giant  forest,  so 
luxuriant  in  its  panoply  of  tender  foliage,  affords  but  a 
grudging  subsistence  to  the  few  birds  and  animals  which  in 
habit  or  traverse  it.  Everywhere  is  presented  the  spectacle 
of  diverse  species  of  animated  beings  struggling  desperately 
for  subsistence,  and  often  devouring  each  other  for  food. 

Into  this  unchained  menagerie  Man  is  thrust,  to  fight  his 
way  as  best  he  can.  The  forest,  the  prairie,  the  mountain, 
the  valley,  the  lakes,  and  the  ocean,  must  be  tamed  to  hear 
and  heed  his  voice  ere  they  can  be  relied  on  to  satisfy  his 
urgent  needs.  The  river  long  obstructs  his  progress  ere  he 
learns  the  secret  of  making  it  bear  him  swiftly  and  cheaply 
on  his  course ;  the  soil  that  shall  ultimately  yield  him  the 
amplest  harvests  is  a  quaking  bog,  useless,  and  hardly  passa 
ble,  until  he  succeeds  in  draining  and  tilling  it.  The  lion  or 
tiger,  whom  he  ultimately  regards  as  a  raree-show,  and  carts 
about  for  his  diversion,  is  primarily  quite  other  than  amus 
ing,  and,  though  exhibiting  himself  at  less  than  the  "half 
price"  at  which  children  are  elsewhere  admitted  to  the  spec 
tacle,  attracts  no  curious  children  of  Adam  to  any  exhibition 
but  that  of  their  own  heels.  The  waterfall  that  propels  the 
civilizee's  mill  arrests  the  savage's  canoe.  In  short,  Nature, 
though  complaisant  at  seasons,  is  yet,  in  the  larger  view, 
grudging  and  stern  toward  our  race,  until  transformed  and 
vivified  by  Labor  and  Science. 

Man,  therefore,  is  by  primal  necessity  a  Transformer,  —  in 
1f  other  words,  a  Reformer.  He  must  first,  by  resolute  effort, 
fix  his  bit  in  the  mouth  of  Nature,  his  saddle  on  her  back, 
and  his  spurs  in  her  sides,  ere  he  is  prepared  to  run  his  no 
bler  race  and  achieve  his  higher  destiny.  Though  mental 
;  development  and  moral  culture  be  the  admitted  ends  of  his 
mundane  existence,  yet  to  begin  with  the  pursuit  of  these  is 
to  court  and  insure  defeat,  by  invoking  frost  and  starvation. 
If  the  philosopher  or  divine  were  to  visit  the  pioneer  just 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  499 

slashing  together  his  log  hut  in  the  wilderness,  and  accost 
him  with,  "  Why  wear  out  your  life  in  such  sordid,  grovel 
ling,  material  drudgery,  when  the  gorgeous  canopy  of  heavfen 
overarches  you,  the  glad  sun  irradiates  and  warms  you,  and 
all  Nature,  ministering  gratuitously  to  your  gross,  bodily 
wants,  invites  to  meditation  and  elevating  self-communion  ? " 
the  squatter's  proper  answer,  should  he  deign  to  give  any  an 
swer  at  all,  would  be :  "  Sir,  I  provide  first  for  my  bodily 
needs,  and  against  the  fitful  inclemencies  of  the  now  genial  * 
skies,  in  order  that  I  may  by  and  by  have  leisure  and  oppor 
tunity  for  those  loftier  pursuits  you  eulogize  so  justly,  though 
inappositely.  I  could  not  fitly  meditate  on  God,  the  Uni 
verse,  and  Human  Destiny,  with  a  shivering  wife  looking  me 
sadly  in  the  face,  nor  with  the  cries  of  hungry  children  ring 
ing  in  my  ears.  Nay :  I  could  not  so  meditate  this  balmy 
June  morning,  in  full  view  of  the  truth  that,  if  I  were  con 
tent  with  meditation  to-day,  such  would  be  the  appeals  of 
those  dependent  on  me  ere  June  should  greet  us  again. 
"What  you  suggest,  then,  is  excellent  in  its  time  and  place ; 
but  I  must  hew  and  delve  to-day,  in  order  that  my  season  for 
contemplation  and  culture  may  ultimately  come." 

Now,  this  obvious  response  of  the  pioneer  to  the  phi 
losopher  is  in  essence  the  material  or  circumstantial  Ee^ 
former's  answer  to  the  Stoic  and  the  Saint.  "  Wealth  is  dross ; 
Power  is  anxiety,  —  is  care  ;  Luxury  enervates  the  body  and 
debases  the  soul,"  these  remonstrate  in  chorus :  "  Know 
thyself,  and  be  truly  wise ;  chasten  your  appetites,  and  be 
rich  in  the  moderation  of  your  physical  wants,"  adds  the 
Stoic ;  "  Know  God,  and  find  happiness  in  adoring  and 
serving  Him,"  echoes  the  Saint.  "  True,  0  Plato  I  true, 
divinest  Cecilia  !  but  everything  in  its  order.  To  render 
fasting  meritorious,  one  should  have  meat  at  command ;  and 
great  spiritual  exaltation  springs  not  naturally  from  a  body 
gaunt  with  enforced  hunger.  Let  me  surround  myself  with 
what  is  needful  for  me  and  mine  in  the  way  of  food,  and 
clothing,  and  shelter;  not  forgetting  meantime  the  nobler 
ends  of  my  existence,  but  looking  also  to  these ;  thus  will  I 


, 


500  MISCELLANIES. 

achieve  for  myself  Opportunity  for  that  loftier  plane  of  being 
whereto  you  so  justly  invite  me.  I  am  not  forgetting  nor 
disobeying  the  injunction  to  '  Seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God 
and  His  righteousness  "  ;  I  am  only  affirming  that,  until  the 
legitimate  physical  needs  of  those  dependent  on  my  exertions 
are  provided  for,  it  would  not  be  righteous  in  me  to  surrender 
myself  to  contemplation,  nor  even  to  devotion."  And  this  is 
substantially  the  answer  of  the  Reformer  of  Man's  external 
circumstances  to  those  who  insist  that  the  end  he  meditates 
is  to  be  attained  from  within,  rather  than  from  without,  —  in 
the  apt  phrase  of  Charles  Lane,  by  improvement,  not  of  this 
or  that  circumstance,  but  of  the  vital  ccT^rc-stance.  We 
readily  admit  this ;  but  what  then  ?  The  question  still  recurs, 
"  How  is  the  desired  end  to  be  attained  ? "  and  we  hold 
that  there  is  no  practical  cure  for  the  vital  woes  of  the 
pitiable  which  does  not  involve  a  preliminary  change  in  their 
outward  conditions.  You  may  shower  precepts  and  admoni 
tions,  tracts  and  Bibles,  on  the  squalid,  filthy,  destitute 
thousands  who  tenant,  thick  as  knotted  adders,  the  cellars 
and  rookeries  of  our  great  cities,  and  all  will  run  off  them 
like  water  from  a  duck's  back,  leaving  them  exactly  as  it 
found  them.  But  first  take  them  out  of  these  lairs  and  lazar- 
houses,  wash  them,  clothe  them  decently,  and  place  them 
where  they  may,  by  honest,  useful  labor,  earn  a  fair  subsist 
ence  ;  now  you  may  ply  them  with  catechisms  and  exhorta 
tions  with  a  rational  hope  of  advantage.  To  attempt  it  sooner, 
even  with  seeming  success,  is  only  to  cover  their  filthiness 
with  a  tenacious  varnish  of  hypocrisy,  rendering  it  less  hate 
ful  to  the  eye,  but  more  profound  and  ineradicable. 

But  not  the  Worker  only  —  the  robust,  earnest  Thinker 
also  —  is  of  necessity  a  Radical.  He  sees  his  less  fortunate 
brethren  oppressed  and  degraded,  debased  and  enslaved, 
through  the  malign  influences  of  selfish  Cunning  and  despotic 
Force ;  and  his  very  soul  is  stirred  within  him  as  was  that  of 
Moses  by  the  spectacle  of  his  people's  sufferings  under  the 
rule  of  their  Egyptian  taskmasters.  No  matter  what  is 
the  extent  or  nature  of  Man's  abstract,  inherent  depravity, 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  501 

he  cannot  fail  to  see  that  men  are  actually  better  or  worse  as 
they  have  better  or  worse  instructors,  rulers,  and  institutions. 
Before  condemning  Human  Nature  as  incorrigible,  and  there 
upon  justifying  those  who  nevertheless  contrive  to  make  its 
guidance  and  government  a  gainful  trade,  he  inquires  whether 
this  same  abused  Nature  has  not  done  better  under  other 
auspices,  and  becomes  satisfied  that  it  has.  Then  he  says  to 
the  banded  decriers  of  Human  Nature  and  to  the  con 
servatives  of  old  abuses  who  take  shelter  under  their  wing : 
"  You  say  that  Man  cannot  walk  erect ;  remove  your  bandages 
from  his  feet,  your  shackles  from  his  limbs,  and  let  us  see  ! 
You  say  that  he  cannot  take  care  of  himself ;  then  why  com 
pel  him,  in  addition,  to  take  such  generous  care  of  you  ? 
You  say  he  is  naturally  dishonest  and  thievish;  but  how 
could  he  be  otherwise,  when  he  cannot  fail  to  perceive  that 
you,  who  set  yourselves  up  for  his  guides  and  exemplars,  are 
perpetually  and  enormously  robbing  him  ?  Begin  by  giving 
back  to  him  the  earth  which  you  have  taken  from  under 
his  feet,  the  knowledge  you  have  monopolized,  the  privi-- 
leges  you  have  engrossed ;  and  we  can  better  determine 
whether  he  needs  anything,  and  what,  from  your  chajity, 
after  he  shall  have  recovered  what  is  rightfully  his  own." 

It  is  a  fearful  gift,  this  of  moral  prescience,  —  the  ability 
and  the  will  to  look  straight  into  and  through  all  traditions, 
usages,  beliefs,  conventionalities,  garnitures,  and  ask :  What 
is  this  for  ?  What  does  it  signify  ?  If  it  were  swept  away, 
what  would  be  really  lost  to  mankind  ?  This  baptism,  or 
whatever  may  be  the  appliance,  —  does  it  really  cleanse  ? 
Does  it  even  tend  to  the  desiderated  result  ?  or  does  it  not 
rather  fortify  with  a  varnish  of  hypocrisy  and  a  crust  of  con 
ceit  the  preexisting  impurity  and  vice  ?  Is  there  the  old 
unrighteousness  left,  with  only  self-righteousness  superadded  ? 
Well  does  a  deep  thinker  speak  of  the  spirit  of  reform  as 
walking  up  and  down,  "paving  the  world  with  eyes,"  — eyes 
which  not  merely  inquire  and  pierce,  but  challenge,  accuse, 
arraign  also.  Happily  was  the  prophet  of  old  named  a  seer  ; 
for  he  who  rightly  and  deeply  sees  thence  foresees.  Your 


502  MISCELLANIES. 

brawling  demagogue  is  a  very  empty  and  harmless  personage, 
—  "a  voice,  and  nothing  more"  ;  but  a  silent,  unimpassioned 
thinker,  though  uttering  only  the  most  obvious  and  uni 
versal  truths,  sets  the  social  caldron  furiously  seething  and 
bubbling.  "Think  not  that  I  am  come  to  send  peace  on 
earth,"  says  the  Prince  of  Peace ;  "  I  am  not  come  to  send 
peace,  but  a  sword."  All  the  rebels,  conspirators,  Messianic 
impostors,  of  that  turbulent  age,  were  not  half  so  formidable 
to  Judean  conservatism,  lioman  despotism,  as  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount.  And  so  in  our  day,  a  genuine,  earnest  re 
former,  no  matter  in  what  manger  cradled,  in  what  Shaker 
garb  invested,  sets  all  things  spinning  and  tilting  around 
him. 

The  true  Pteformer  turns  his  eyes  first  inward,  scrutinizing 
himself,  his  habits,  purposes,  efforts,  'enjoyments,  asking, 
What  signifies  this  ?  and  this  ?  and  wherein  is  its  justifica 
tion  ?  This  daily  provision  of  meat  and  drink,  —  is  its  end 
nourishment  and  its  incident  enjoyment  ?  or  are  the  poles 
reversed,  and  do  I  eat  and  drink  for  the  gratification  of  appe 
tite,  hoping,  or  trusting,  or  blindly  guessing,  that,  since  it  sa 
tiates  my  desires,  it  must  satisfy  also  my  needs  ?  Is  it  requi 
site  that  all  the  zones  and  continents  should  be  ransacked  to 
build  up  the  fleeting  earthly  tabernacle  of  this  immortal 
spirit  ?  Is  not  the  soul  rather  submerged,  stifled,  drowned, 
in  this  incessant  idolizing,  feasting,  pampering  of  the  body  ? 
These  sumptuous  entertainments,  wherein  the  palate  has 
everything,  the  soul  nothing,  —  what  faculty,  whether  of  body 
or  mind,  do  they  brighten  or  strengthen  ?  Why  should  a 
score  of  animals  render  up  their  lives  to  furnish  forth  my 
day's  dinner,  if  my  own  life  is  thereby  rendered  neither  surer 
nor  nobler  ?  Why  gorge  myself  with  dainties  which  cloud 
the  brain  and  clog  the  step,  if  the  common  grains  and  fruits 
and  roots  and  water  afford  precisely  the  same  sustenance  in 
simpler  and  less  cloying  guise,  and  are  far  more  conducive  to 
health,  strength,  elasticity,  longevity  ?  Can  a  man  worthily 
surrender  his  life  to  the  mere  acquiring  and  absorbing  of 
food,  thus  alternating  only  from  the  state  of  a  beast  of  burden 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  503 

to  that  of  a  beast  of  prey  ?  Above  all,  why  should  I  fire  my 
blood  and  sear  my  brain  with  liquors  which  give  a  temporary 
exhilaration  to  the  spirits  at  the  cost  of  permanent  depra 
vation  and  disorder  to  the  whole  physical  frame  ?  In  short, 
why  should  I  live  for  and  in  my  appetites,  if  these  were  Di 
vinely  created  to  serve  and  sustain,  not  master  and  dethrone, 
the  spirit  to  which  this  earthly  frame  is  but  a  husk,  a  tent,  a 
halting-place,  in  an  exalted,  deathless  career  ?  If  the  life  be 
indeed  more  than  meat,  why  shall  not  the  meat  recognize  and 
attest  that  fact  ?  And  thus  the  sincere  Reformer,  in  the  very 
outset  of  his  course,  becomes  a  "tee-total"  fanatic,  repre 
sented  by  the  knavish  and  regarded  by  the  vulgar  as  a  foe  to 
all  enjoyment  and  cheer,  insisting  that  mankind  shall  con 
form  to  his  crotchets,  and  live  on  bran-bread  and  blue  cold 
water. 

Turning  his  eyes  away  from  himself,  he  scans  the  relations 
of  man  with  man,  under  which  labor  is  performed  and  service 
secured,  and  finds,  not  absolute  Justice,  much  less  Love,  but 
Necessity  on  the  one  hand,  Advantage  on  the  other,  presiding 
over  the  general  interchange  of  good  offices  among  mankind. 
In  the  market,  on  the  exchange,  we  meet  no  recognition  of 
the  brotherhood  of  the  human  race.  A  famine  in  one  coun 
try  is  a  godsend  to  the  grain-growers  and  flour-speculators  of 
another.  An  excess  of  immigration  enhances  the  cost  of  food 
while  depressing  the  wages  of  labor,  adding  in  both  ways  to 
the  wealth  of  the  forehanded,  who  find  their  only  drawback 
in  the  increased  burdens  of  pauperism.  Thus  the  mansion 
and  the  hovel  rise  side  by  side,  and  where  sheriffs  are  abun 
dant  is  hanging  most  frequent.  One  man's  necessity  being 
another's  opportunity,  we  have  no  right  to  be  surprised  or  in 
dignant  that  the  general  system  culminates,  by  an  inexorably 
logical  process,  in  the  existence  and  stubborn  maintenance  of 
Human  Slavery. 

Yes,  I  insist  that  Slavery  is  a  logical  deduction  from  prin 
ciples  generally  accepted,  and  almost  universally  accounted 
sound  and  laudable.  For,  once  admit  the  premises  that  I 


504  MISCELLANIES. 

have  a  right  to  seek  profit  from  my  neighbor's  privations  and 
calamities ;  that  I  have  a  right  to  consume  in  idleness  the 
products  or  earnings  of  half  a  dozen  workers,  if  my  income 
will  justify  the  outlay;  and  that  it  is  better  to  live  indo 
lently  on  others'  earnings  than  industriously  from  the  pro 
ceeds  of  my  own,  —  and  the  rightfulness  of  Slavery  is  a  log 
ical  deduction,  as  plain  as  that  two  and  two  make  four. 
Hence  the  gambler,  the  swindler,  the  pander  for  gain  to  oth 
ers'  vices,  is  always  pro-Slavery,  or  is  only  withheld  from 
that  side  by  fear  of  being  himself  enslaved.  You  would  not 
on  three  continents  find  a  pirate  or  gaming-house  bully  who 
would  not  gladly  tramp  five  miles  on  a  dark,  stormy  night,  to 
help  lynch  an  Abolitionist.  And  thus  not  only  have  all  Re 
forms  a  sympathetic,  even  if  ill-understood,  relationship,  but 
the  enemies  of  reforms  are  united  by  a  free-masonry  equally 
potent  and  comprehensive.  The  negro-trader  of  Charleston 
or  New  Orleans  would  always  help  to  mob  a  Temperance  lec 
turer,  even  though  he  did  not  himself  drink;  for  he  hated 
and  dreaded  the  application  of  ethical  laws  to  practical  life. 
This  particular  reform  did  not  interfere  with  his  pursuits  or 
his  gains  ;  but  he  felt  instinctively  that  all  other  reforms  were 
just  behind  it,  —  that  they  were  peering  over  its  shoulder, 
and  ready  to  rush  in  if  this  one  succeeded  in  opening  the 
door.  So  he  put  his  shoulder  against  it,  and  held  fast,  —  not 
that  he  objected  specially  to  this,  but  that  he  w^ould  make 
seasonable  resistance  to  the  crowd  that  came  trooping  in  its 
train. 

It  was  very  common,  of  old,  for  the  members  of  diverse 
parties  and  sects  to  protest  that  they  were  not  Abolitionists, 
—  a  most  superfluous  assurance.  Essentially,  radically,  there 
are  just  so  many  Abolitionists  as  comprehend  that  it  is  bet 
ter  for  themselves,  better  also  for  their  children,  to  earn  their 
subsistence  by  fair,  honest  service  to  their  kind,  than  to  have 
it  supplied  them  for  nothing.  He  only  is  truly,  inflexibly 
an  Abolitionist  who  realizes  that  the  faculty  of  producing  or 
earning  bread  is  as  much  an  element  of  man's  happiness  as 
the  ability  to  consume  and  relish  it.  He  who  idly  wishes 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  505 

that  Providence  had  made  him  heir  of  a  fortune,  so  that  he 
might  have  fared  sumptuously  and  lived  idly,  might  just  as 
well  sigh  outright  for  John  Mitchell's  coveted  Alabama  plan 
tation  and  fat  negroes. 

Whether  it  shall  ever  be  found  practicable  to  substitute  a 
more  trustful  and  beneficent  social  order  for  that  which  now 
prevails,  the  sceptics  are  fully  justified  in  doubting.  So 
many  experiments  —  fairly  tried,  so  far  as  they  can  see  — 
have  resulted  in  so  many  failures,  that  they  quite  rationally 
conclude  that  the  Family  is  the  only,  or  at  least  the  highest, 
social  organization  whereof  poor,  depraved  human  nature  is 
capable,  It  is  all  very  well,  they  fairly  say,  to  talk  of  the 
great  economies  of  some  theoretic  social  system,  —  how  much 
could  be  saved  in  fences  and  fuel,  stowage  and  lights,  produc 
tion  and  distribution,  by  uniting  five  hundred  families  in  one 
household,  on  a  common  domain,  rather  than  scattering  them 
over  twice  as  many  acres  or  twenty-score  farms  ;  but,  since 
it  is  proved  that  families  cannot  or  will  not  live  and  labor  in 
this  way,  what  use  in  commending  it  ?  You  might  as  well 
talk  of  the  superior  pavement  of  the  ,New  Jerusalem  seen 
in  St.  John's  vision  to  that  of  Broadway  or  Chestnut  Street, 
and  insist  that  our  cities  shall  henceforth  use  the  former 
exclusively. 

There  is  much  force  in  this  view ;  but  there  is  more 
force  in  one  higher  and  nobler.  It  is  true  that  men  and 
women  educated  in  the  selfish  isolation  and  antagonism  of 
our  current  households  are  not  qualified  —  at  least,  the  great 
mass  of  them  are  not  —  for  any  better  form  of  society.  It 
is  true  that  this  knowledge  has  been  attained  through  years 
of  patient  exertion  and  sacrifice,  —  attained  by  earnest, 
ardent,  self-denying  men  and  women,  who  would  have  given 
their  lives  to  perfect  conclusively  a  contrary  demonstration. 
And,  though  it  is  truly  urged  that  these  demonstrations  were 
made  under  very  imperfect  and  unfavorable  circumstances, 
it  is  equally  true  that  they  were  the  most  favorable  that 
could  be,  and  better  than  can  now  be,  obtained. 

We  stand,  then,  in  the  presence  of  this  state  of  facts  : 


506  MISCELLANIES. 

On  the  one  hand,  it  is  proved  difficult  to  create  and  main 
tain  a  more  trustful  and  harmonious  social  structure  out  of 
such  materials  as  the  old  social  machinery  has   formed,  - 
or  rather,  we  may  say  practically,  out  of  such  materials  as  the 
old  machinery  has  expelled  and  rejected ;  yet  we  know,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  a  more  —  yes,  I  will  say  it—  Christian 
Social  Order  is  not  impossible.      For  it  is  more  than  half 
a  century  since  the  first  associations  of  the  gentle  ascetics 
contemptuously  termed  Shakers  were  formed;   and   no  one 
will  pretend  that  they  have  failed.     No  :  they  have  steadily 
and  eminently  expanded  and  increased  in  wealth,  and  every 
element  of  material  prosperity,  until  they  are  at  this  day  just 
objects  of  envy  to  their  neighbors.    They  produce  no  paupers ; 
they  excrete  no  beggars;  they  have  no  idlers,  rich  or  poor; 
no  purse-proud  nabobs,  no  cringing  slaves.     So  far  are  they 
from  pecuniary  failure,  that  they  alone  have  known  no  such 
word  as  fail  since,  amid  poverty  and  odium,  they  laid  the 
foundations  of  their  social  edifice,  and  inscribed  "  Holiness  to 
the  Lord  "  above  their  gates.     They  may  not  have  attempted 
the  highest   nor   the  wisest   achievement ;   but   what  they 
attempted  they  have  accomplished.     And,  if  there  were  no 
other  success  akin  to  theirs, — but  there  is, —  it  would  still 
be  a  demonstrated  truth  that  men  and  women  can  live  and 
labor  for  general,  not  selfish,  good,  —  can  banish  pauperism, 
servitude,  and  idleness,  and  secure  general  thrift  and  plenty, 
by  moderate  cooperative  labor  and  a  complete  identity  of 
interests.     Of  this  truth,  each  year  offers  added  demonstra 
tions  ;  but,  if  all  were  to  cease  to-morrow,  the  fact  that  it  had 
been  proved  would  remain.      Perhaps  no  Plato,  no   Scipio, 
no  Columbus,  no  Milton,  now  exists ;  but  the  capacity  of  the 
Eace  is  still  measured  and  assured  by  the  great  men  and 
great  deeds  that  have  been.     Man  can  work  for  his  brother's 
good  as  well  as  his  own  :  an  unbroken,  triumphant  experience 
of  half  a  century  has  established  the  fact,  so  that  fifty  cen 
turies  of  contrary  experience  would  not  disprove  it. 

But  we  are  not  required  to  prove  the  capacity,  the  adapta 
bility,  of  Man  to  a  social  accord  so  extreme  as  Communism. 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.          507 

The  practicability  of  this  involves  that  of  every  social  recon 
struction  less  radical,  just  as  a  bushel  of  grain  contains  every 
lesser  measure  thereof ;  but  the  truth  of  the  reverse  does  not 
follow.  A  bank  on  which  every  human  being,  or  even  every 
stockholder,  might  fill  up  and  draw  checks  at  discretion, 
would  soon  be  broken;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  a  well- 
managed  joint-stock  bank  must  inevitably  fail.  Man  may 
yet,  in  far  distant  ages,  become  wise  enough,  good  enough,  to 
realize  that  Labor  is  needful  to  him  as  food,  and  that  frugal 
ity  and  temperance  are  essential  to  long  life  and  sustained 
enjoyment.  But,  far  this  side  of  that,  he  may  become  con 
vinced  that  he  wars  on  himself  in  seeking  a  selfish  good,  and 
that  only  in  conjunction  with  others'  happiness  can  his  own 
be  secured.  It  needs  not  that  he  be  willing  to  share  his  earn- 
ino'S  with  others,  in  order  that  he  may  realize  that  every  in 
voluntary  idler  saps  the  general  well-being,  and  that  it  is  the 
interest  of  each  to  see  that  there  is  work  and  fair  recompense 

for  all. 

I  write  in  sad  and  chill  November.  The  skies  are  sullen 
and '  weeping ;  the  ground  is  reeking  mire ;  and  the  fierce 
northwester  lingers  just  behind  the  Highlands,  ready  to  rush 
upon  the  tattered  and  thin-clad  like  a  pack  of  famished 
wolves.  Adown  the  street  pace  crowds  of  weary  seekers,  — 
seekers  once  of  fame,  perhaps,  or  power,  or  wealth ;  but  now 
of  food  and  raiment,  —  of  work  and  wages.  The  shop- win 
dows  and  doors  are  choked  with  ship-loads  of  wares  adapted 
to  their  urgent  physical  needs,  —  everything  requisite  to  eat, 
and  burn,  and  wear.  All  these  were  produced  by  labor ;  and 
the  needy  are  most  willing  to  give  labor  in  exchange  for  them. 
The  owners,  on  the  other  hand,  want  to  sell  them,  —  bought 
them  for  that  purpose,  and  must  break  if  the  end  is  not 
attained.  Yet  here  the  two  classes  stand  facing,  eyeing  each 
other,  —  a  thin  plate  of  glass  dividing  them,  —  the  man  with 
in  anxious  to  sell,  and  he  without  eager  to  buy,  —  yet  some 
malignant  spell  seems  to  keep  them  still  blankly,  helplessly 
staring  at  each  other.  Perhaps  a  mere  combination  of  the 
hungry,  thin-clad  thousands  who  wishfully,  fruitlessly  gaze 


508  MISCELLANIES. 

into  those  windows,  would  secure  the  desired  result ;  for  here 
are  persons  of  all  kinds  as  well  as  grades  of  ability  anxiously 
seeking  work,  —  that  is,  seeking  opportunity  to  coin  their  own 
exertions  into  the  bread  and  clothes  and  shelter  they  so  press- 
irigly  need.  Say  there  is  no  work  for  them,  and  their  own 
hunger  and  rags  give  you  the  lie  :  they  themselves  collec 
tively  afford  that  very  market  for  their  labor  for  want  of  which 
they  severally  shiver  and  famish.  But  the  carpenter  cannot 
live  on  timber,  even  if  he  had  it ;  he  cannot  even  build  him 
self  th,e  dwelling  for  want  of  which  his  children  shiver  in 
some  damp  basement ;  and  thus  the  seedy  tailor  grows  daily 
more  ragged,  and  the  unemployed  shoemaker  despairingly 
sees,  his  own  feet  come  more  and  more  fully  in  contact  with 
the  frosty,  flinty  pavement ;  while  the  seamstress  out  of  work 
creeps  to  her  bare  garret  and  prays  God  that  starvation,  rather 
than  infamy,  may  end  her  long  battle,  now  so  nearly  lost,  for 
the  coarsest  and  scantiest  bread.  Legislators !  philanthro 
pists  !  statesmen  !  there  must  be  some  way  out  of  this  social 
labyrinth ;  for  God  is  good,  and  has  not  created  men  and  wo 
men  to  starve  for  want  of  work.  The  precept  "  Six  days  .shall 
thou  labor "  implies  and  predicts  work  for  all ;  where  is  it  ? 
and  what  shall  supply  it  ?  If  you  cannot  or  will  not  solve 
this  problem,  at  least  do  not  defame  or  impede  those  who 
earnestly  seek  its  solution ! 

The  great,  the  all-embracing  Reform  of  our  age  is  therefore 
the  SOCIAL  Reform,  —  that  which  seeks  to  lift  the  Laboring 
Class,  as  such,  —  not  out  of  labor,  by  any  means,  —  but  out  of 
ignorance,  inefficiency,  dependence,  and  want,  and  place  them 
in  "a  position  of  partnership  and  recognized  mutual  helpful 
ness  with  the  suppliers  of  the  Capital  which  they  render 
fruitful  and  efficient.  It  is  easily  said  that  this  is  the  case 
now ;  but,  practically,  the  fact  is  otherwise.  The  man  who 
has  only  labor  to  barter  for  wages  or  bread  looks  up  to  the 
buyer  of  his  sole  commodity  as  a  benefactor ;  the  master  and 
journeyman,  farmer  and  hired  man^  lender  and  borrower, 
mistress  and  servant,  do  not  stand'on  a  recognized  footing  of 
reciprocal  benefaction.  True,  self-interest  is  the  acknowl- 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  509 

edged  impulse  of  either  party;  the  lender,  the  employer, 
parts  with  his  money  only  to  increase  it,  and  so,  it  would 
seem,  is  entitled  to  prompt  payment  or  faithful  service,— 
not,  specially,  to  gratitude.  He  who  pays  a  bushel  of  fair 
wheat  for  a  day's  work  at  sowing  for  next  year's  harvest  has 
simply  exchanged  a  modicum  of  his  property  for  other  prop 
erty,  to  him  of  greater  value  ;  and  so  has  no  sort  of  claim  to 
an  unreciprocated  obeisance  from  the  other  party  to  the  bar 
gain.  But  so  long  as  there  shall  be  ten  who  would  gladly 
borrow  to  one  disposed  and  able  to  lend,  and  many  more 
anxious  to  be  hired  than  others  able  and  willing  to  employ 
them,  there  always  will  be  a  natural  eagerness  of  competition 
for  loans,  advances,  employment,  and  a  resulting  deference  of 
borrower  to  lender,  employed  to  employer.  He  who  may 
hire  or  not,  as  to  him  shall  seem  profitable,  is  independent ; 
while  he  who  must  be  hired  or  starve  exists  at  others'  mercy. 
Not  till  Society  shall  be  so  adjusted,  so  organized,  that  who 
ever  is  willing  to  work  shall  assuredly  have  work,  and  fair 
recompense  for  doing  it,  as  readily  as  he  who  has  gold  may 
exchange  it  for  more  portable  notes,  will  the  laborer  be  placed 
on  a  footing  of  justice  and  rightful  independence.  He  who 
is  able  and  willing  to  give  work  for  bread  is  not  essentially  a 
pauper;  he  does  not  desire  to  abstract  without  recompense 
from  the  aggregate  of  the  world's  goods  and  chattels ;  he  is 
not  rightfully  a  beggar.  Wishing  only  to  convert  his  own 
muscular  energy  into  bread,  it  is  not  merely  his  but  every 
man's  interest  that  the  opportunity  should  be  afforded  him, 

—  nay,  it  is  the  clear  duty  of  Society  to  render  such  ex 
change  at  all  times  practicable  and  convenient. 

A  community  or  little  world  wherein  all  freely  serve  and 
all  are  amply  served,  —  wherein  each  works  according  to  his 
tastes  or  needs,  and  is  paid  for  all  he  does  or  brings  to  pass, 

—  wherein  education  is  free  and  common  as  air  and  sunshine, 
-wherein  drones   and  sensualists  cannot  abide   the  social 

atmosphere,  but  are  expelled  by  a  quiet,  wholesome  fermen 
tation,  —  wherein  humbugs  and  charlatans  necessarily  find 


510  MISCELLANIES. 

their  level,  and  nought  but  actual  service,  tested  by  the 
severest  ordeals,  can  secure  approbation,  and  none  but  sterling 
qualities  win  esteem,  —  such  is  the  ideal  world  of  the  Social 
ist.  Grant  that  it  is  but  a  dream,  —  and  such,  as  yet,  it  for  the 
most  part  has  been,  —  it  by  no  means  follows  that  it  has  no 
practical  value.  On  the  contrary,  an  ideal,  an  illusion,  if  a 
noble  one,  has  often  been  the  inspirer  of  grand  and  beneficent 
efforts.  Moses  was  fated  never  to  enter  the  Land  of  Promise 
he  so  longingly  viewed  from  afar ;  and  Columbus  never  found 
-»-  who  can  now  wish  that  he  had  ?  —  that  unimpeded  sea- 
route  westward  to  India  that  he  sought  so  wisely  and  so 
daringly.  Yet  still  the  world  moves  on,  and  by  mysterious 
and  unexpected  ways  the  great,  brave  soul  is  permitted  to 
subserve  the  benignant  purposes  of  God  contemplating  the 
elevation  and  blessing  of  Man.  And  so,  I  cannot  doubt,  the 
unselfish  efforts  in  our  day  for  the  melioration  of  social  hard 
ships,  though  their  methods  may  be  rejected  as  mistaken  or 
defective,  will  yet  signally  conduce  to  their  contemplated 
ends.  Fail  not,  then,  humble  hoper  for  "  the  Good  Time 
Coming,"  to  lend  your  feeble  sigh  to  swell  the  sails  of  whatever 
bark  is  freighted  with  earnest  efforts  for  the  mitigation  of 
human  woes,  nor  doubt  that  the  Divine  breath  shall  waft  it 
at  last  to  its  prayed-for  haven  ! 

Time  will  not  suffice  to  speak  fully  of  the  efforts,  but  yester 
day  so  earnest  and  active,  now  so  languid  and  unapparent, 
for  the  abolition  of  the  legal  penalty  of  Death.  Perhaps  this 
effort  has  already  succeeded  so  far  as  it  was  best  it  should 
succeed  at  present,  —  that  is,  so  far  that  some  States  in  the 
West,  as  others  in  the  East,  have  absolutely,  and  others 
virtually,  abolished  the  Death  Penalty.  If  we  could  now 
forget  the  whole  subject  for  ten  years,  we  might,  at  the  close 
of  that  period,  compare  carefully  and  searchingly  the  preva 
lence  of  capital  crime  in  the  States  respectively  which  have 
abolished  and  those  which  have  retained  the  Gallows,  and 
strike  an  instructive  balance  between  them.  For  the  present, 
let  it  suffice  that  no  one  appears  now  to  be  seriously  contend- 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.          511 

ing  that  life  is  less  safe  or  crime  more  prevalent  in  the  States 
which  destroy  no  human  lives  than  in  others.  And,  when 
Society  shall  for  a  generation  have  set  a  consistent  example 
of  reverencing  the  inviolability  of  this  life,  regarding  it  as  a 
sacred  gift  from  God,  which  He  only  may  warrantably  take 
away,  —  we  may  rationally  hope  that  the  example  will  not 
be  lost,  even  on  those  constitutionally  prone  to  outrage, 
violence,  and  crime. 

Nay,  let  me  venture  one  more  suggestion.  The  nations, 
races,  ages,  most  advanced  in  civilization  and  knowledge  have 
ever  been  most  reluctant  to  quench  the  light  of  life.  Despots 
and  oligarchies  have  mowed  down  men  by  wholesale,  where 
republics  and  popular  governments  have  generally  been  for 
bearing  and  humane.  Every  trial  of  popular  sovereignty  in 
Europe  has  been  attended  or  followed  by  a  mitigation  or 
diminution  of  sanguinary  penalties  ;  and  the  glorious  uprising 
of  '48  would  ere  this  have  nearly  dismissed  the  hangman  or 
headsman  from  the  public  service,  if  Eoyal  treachery,  courtly 
conspiracy,  and  popular  levity  had  not  crushed  it.  And  now, 
in  the  heyday  of  Reaction,  we  hear  from  time  to  time  of  one 
despot  after  another,  having  recovered  his  throne  and  his 
presence  of  mind,  reestablishing  or  reinvigorating  the  Gallows. 
I  rejoice  in  the  hope  that  the  progress  of  Christianity,  civi 
lization,  and  liberty,  will  yet  drive  it  altogether  from  the 
earth. 

I  will  barely  glance  at  the  great  problem  of  Educational 
Reform,  —  of  the  blending  of  Labor  with  Study,  so  as  to  pre 
serve  health  of  body  and  vigorous  activity  of  mind,  enable 
the  student  nearly  or  quite  to  work  his  way  through  academy 
and  college,  and  send  him  out  better  qualified  to  wrestle  with 
adversity,  instruct  the  uneducated,  and  maintain  a  healthful 
independence,  than  he  otherwise  could  be.  Not  to  argue  or 
commend,  but  simply  to  state  the  position  of  the  Reformers, 
shall  be  the  point  of  my  aim. 

The  old  division  of  mankind  into  a  numerous,  unlearned, 
or  working,  and  a  thinly  sown  but  powerful  thinking,  di- 


512  MISCELLANIES. 

recting,  educated,  governing  class,  is  no  longer  possible,  save 
in  approximation.  The  principle  underlying  the  Brahminical 
system  of  caste  is  alien  to  our  laws  and  our  intellectual  con 
dition.  The  masses  have  at  least  a  smattering  of  knowledge, 
and  more  than  a  shadow  of  power.  They  may  be  educated 
badly,  imperfectly,  superficially ;  they  will  never  again  con 
sent  to  be  not  educated  at  all.  Ever-increasing  millions  will 
be  spent  on  their  instruction :  shall  they  thereby  be  taught 
what  they  need  to  know,  or  what  is  adapted  to  other  needs 
than  theirs  ?  An  argument  will  hardly  be  necessary  to  show 
that  the  training  required  to  make  an  able  and  efficient  doc 
tor,  lawyer,  or  clergyman,  is  not  that  which  is  essential  to  the 
development  of  a  capable  and  well-informed  farmer,  me 
chanic,  or  civil  engineer.  Nobody  contends  that  the  routine 
of  our  colleges  is  that  which  is  best  calculated  to  fit  a  youth 
for  eminence  as  a  military  or  naval  commander :  why,  then, 
should  it  be  deemed  appropriate  for  our  embryo  captains  of 
industry  ?  None  are  more  apt  to  inveigh  against  the  shallow- 
ness  or  quackery  of  our  current  applications  of  science  to 
agriculture,  than  they  who  bar  the  way  to  our  advance  to  the 
acquisition  of  a  science  of  agriculture  which  shall  be  neither 
shallow  nor  empirical. 

The  time  when  to  know  how  to  read  was  proof  presump 
tive  of  an  education  for  the  priesthood  can  never  be  recalled. 
The  supposition  that  methodized  knowledge  is  not  as  impor 
tant  to  the  cultivator  as  to  the  clergyman  is  no  longer  en 
tertained.  No  wise  champion  of  classical  education  to-day 
sadly  or  sneeringly  inquires,  with  the  Apocryphal  writer  of 
Ecclesiasticus,  "  How  can  he  get  wisdom  that  holdeth  the 
plough,  that  glorieth  in  the  goad,  that  driveth  oxen,  and  is  oc 
cupied  with  the  care  of  bullocks  ? "  The  spirit  that  dictated 
those  questions  may  still  linger  in  some  cloistral  recesses, 
some  sepulchral  caverns,  but  it  no  longer  stalks  abroad  out 
spoken  and  defiant.  It  is  in  our  age  a  thing  of  night,  and 
must  vanish  with  the  dawning  of  the  day. 
/  Well,  then :  we  need  and  must  have  a  system  of  higher 
/  education  which  recognizes  the  truth  that  Man  is  by  nature  a 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  513 

worker,  —  a  fashioner  and  ruler  of  matter,  —  that  to  be  indus 
trious  is  dictated  to  him  by  a  beneficent  law  of  his  being,  and 
that  daily  muscular  as  well  as  mental  effort  is  among  the  con 
ditions  of  his  healthful  and  joyful  existence.  We  need  an 
education  which  recognizes  that  God  has  placed  men  on  earth 
that  they  may  work,  and  that  every  attempt  to  escape  this 
destiny  parallels  the  original  offence  of  Jonah,  and  subjects 
the  offender  to  calamities  like  to  his.  We  need  an  education 
which  shall  not  only  regard  as  an  end  the  forming  of  more 
instructed  and  efficient  farmers  and  artisans  than  we  now 
have,  but  the  ultimate  training  of  the  great  mass  of  our  youth 
to  degrees  of  skill  in  the  choice  and  use  of  implements  hith 
erto  unknown.  To  this  end,  we  must  have  seminaries  which 
not  merely  provide  work  for  their  pupils,  but  require  it  in 
flexibly  from  all,  —  which  educate  the  head  and  the  hand  to 
gether,  each  to  be  the  ally  and  the  complement  of  the  other ; 
which  shall  teach  our  aspiring  youth,  not  only  how  to  do  bet 
ter  than  their  fathers  did  in  every  field  of  blended  intellect 
ual  and  industrial  effort,  but  why  this  way  is  better  than  any 
other,  and  in  what  direction  further  improvement  is  to  be 
made.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  may  we  expect  to  elevate  our 
industrial  pursuits  to  that  position  which  they  are  justly  en 
titled  to  hold,  and  render  them  attractive  to  our  aspiring  and 
noble  youth.  Every  useful  vocation  is  respected  in  propor 
tion  to  the  measure  of  intellect  it  requires  and  rewards,  and 
never  can  rise  above  this  level.  You  may  eulogize  the  Dig- . 
nity  of  Labor  till  doomsday,  without  making  a  boot-black's 
calling  as  honorable  as  that  of  an  engineer  or  a  draughtsman ; 
and,  so  long  as  an  ignorant  and  stupid  boor  shall  be  esteemed 
wise  enough,  learned  enough,  for  a  competent  farmer  or  me 
chanic,  all  spread-eagle  glorification  of  Manual  Labor  will  be 
demagogue  cant  and  office-seeking  hypocrisy.  Only  through 
a  truer  and  nobler  education  can  the  working  masses  ever 
attain  the  position  and  the  respect  which  the  genius  of  our 
institutions  predicts  and  requires  for  them.  And  that  Educa 
tion  has  yet  its  seminaries  to  found  and  its  professors  to  train 
or  discover. 

33 


514  MISCELLANIES. 

But  I  must  not  dwell  longer  on  special  Reform  movements, 
though  many  others  challenge  our  attention.  If  the  few 
bricks  taken  almost  at  random  give  any  fair  idea  of  the 
character  and  proportions  of  the  edifice,  you  will  thence  per 
ceive,  —  what  many  of  you,  doubtless,  have  not  waited  till  now 
to  learn,  —  that  what  the  Eeform  Spirit  of  our  age  labors  pri 
marily  and  generally  to  establish  is  the  equality  of  Human 
Eights,  regardless  of  all  disparities  of  strength,  or  knowledge, 
or  caste,  or  creed,  or  color,  —  an  equality  based  on  the  all- 
embracing  moral  obligation  to  consecrate  every  faculty,  every 
impulse,  to  the  highest  good  of  Humanity.  Through  all  its 
selfishness,  rapacity,  folly,  and  sin,  the  Genius  of  our  Age 
speaks  to  us  in  tones  which  the  discerning  hear  and  the 
thoughtful  heed ;  and  the  burden  of  its  message  runs  thus  : 
"  It  is  nobler  and  better  to  teach  the  child  than  to  hang  the 
man  ;  —  it  is  wiser  to  remove  temptation  from  the  path  of 
the  weak  than  to  punish  them  because  they  have  stumbled 
and  fallen,  —  easier  to  find  the  vagrant  orphan  a  home,  and 
teach  him  a  trade,  than  to  watch  him  as  a  rogue  and  punish 
him  as  a  thief,  —  cheaper  and  better  for  Society  to  find 
work  for  all  who  need  and  seek  it  than  to  support  the 
needy  in  idleness  as  paupers,  vagrants,  or  criminals,  —  nobler 
to  warn  than  to  doom,  —  more  godlike  to  lift  up  than  to 
crush  down,  —  and  far  safer  to  be  surrounded  and  shield 
ed  by  gratitude  and  love  than  to  be  walled  in  with  batter 
ies  and  hedged  about  by  spears."  Thus  testifies  the  age  of 
Steam-Presses,  Eailroads,  and  Lightning  Telegraphs  to  States 
men,  Legislators,  and  Eulers ;  when  shall  it  be  fully  under 
stood  and  heeded  ? 

But  I  have  proposed  to  speak,  not  only  of  Eeforms,  but  of 
Eeformers,  —  a  theme  somewhat  less  grand  and  inspiring. 
For,  indeed,  the  contrast  between  the  work  proposed  and  the 
man  who  proposes  and  undertakes  it  is  often  so  broad  as  to 
partake  of  the  ludicrous.  I  have  met  several  in  my  day  who 
were  quite  confident  of  their  ability  to  correct  Euclid's 
Geometry  or  upset  Newton's  theory  of  Gravitation ;  but  I 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  51 


doubt  whether  one  of  them  could  have  earned  or  borrowed 
two  hundred  dollars  in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  nothing 
stumps  an  average  Eeformer  of  things  in  general  so  complete 
ly  as  to  be  asked  to  settle  his  board-bill.  I  can  guess  with 
what  awed  apprehension  the  green  disciple  comes  up  from 
some  rural  hamlet  or  out-of-the-way  village  to  the  metropolis, 
there  to  meet  for  the  first  time  the  oracle  of  some  great  move 
ment  for  the  regeneration  of  the  world,  whose  writings  he 
has  devoured  with  wondering  admiration ;  and  with  what 
blank  surprise  he  finds  himself  introduced,  at  some  club 
house  or  restaurant,  to  said  oracle,  —  a  spindling,  chattering, 
personally  insignificant  entity,  who  discourses  volubly  and 
disjointedly  of  the  times,  the  crops,  and  the  weather;  and 
never  even  blunders  on  a  pithy  saying,  unless  when,  in  the 
fervor  of  good  fellowship,  he  orders  "  Pork  Chops  for  two." 
But  it  were  hardly  fair  to  ride  down  Eeformers  in  a  body,  as 
a  brigade  of  heavy  cavalry  might  sweep  over  a  pulk  of  Cos 
sacks  ;  let  us  analyze  the  mass  with  searching  and  patient 
discrimination. 

The  first  or  lowest  class  among  them  I  take  to  be  the\- 
envious.  The  wide  disparity  between  most  men's  estimate  of 
themselves  respectively,  and  their  neighbors'  valuation  of  the 
very  same  article,  has  been  abundantly  observed.  The  num 
ber  who  suppose  themselves  enormously  underrated  in  the 
world's  opinion  is  very  great ;  and  each  believes  that  he  would 
have  long  since  acquired  a  fortune  or  achieved  eminence  if  he 
had  only  passed  current  for  all  he  was  worth.  The  ambitious 
and  conceited,  thus  stamped  in  the  mint  of  Society  at  what 
they  consider  a  ruinous  depreciation,  are  naturally  rebels 
against  the  authority  which  thus  disranks  and  degrades 
them,  —  they  know  that  the  Social  edifice  is  wrong  end  up, 
from  the  fact  that  they  are  so  near  the  bottom  of  it.  And  thus 
thousands  fancy  themselves  Eeformers,  while  their  real  ob 
jection  to  the  world  as  it  is  relates  not  at  all  to  the  fashion 
of  the  structure,  but  solely  to  their  own  place  in  it. 

Akin  to  this  class  is  that  of  the  devotees  of  Sensual  Appe- 


516  MISCELLANIES. 

tite,  whose   prospective  millennium  is  a   period  of  general 
license,  wherein  everybody  may  do  with  impunity  whatsoever 
his  desires  may  prompt,  —  or,  at  least,  they  may.     This  class 
sees  the  Social  world  so  covered,  fettered,  interpenetrated,  by 
laws,  customs,  beliefs,  which  plant  themselves  firmly  across 
the' path  whereon  its  members  are  severally  pressing  forward 
to  the  gratification  of  every  impulse,  that  it  is  plain  that 
either  Society  is  or  they  are  sadly  in  the  wrong ;  and  im 
perious  Appetite  forbids  the  conclusion  that  they  are.     If  the 
world  as  it  is  would  only  concede  them  wealth  without  in 
dustry,  enjoyment  without  obedience,  respect  without  virtue, 
it  would  be  as  good  a  world  now  as  they  could  ask  for ;  but 
since  it  will  not  (indeed,  cannot)  do  thus,  they  make  desper 
ate  fight  against  it,  just  as  a  vicious  and  indiscreet  bull,  it  is 
said,  will  sometimes  butt  heads  with  a  locomotive.     Byron 
speaks  to  us  out  of  the  heart  of  this  class,  and  so  forcibly 
that  his  statement  will  hardly  be  improved.     The  diction  of 
this  school  is  often  nervous  ;  its  logic  invincible,  if  only  its 
premises  be  granted ;  and  its  rhetoric  really  fascinating  to 
those  who  are  in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  its  passions ;  but 
the  understanding  is  only  clouded,  it  is  not  convinced,  by 
the  inculcations  thus  incited,  and  the  cooling  of  the  blood 
gives  conscience  an  opportunity  to  reassert  her  long-ignored 
sovereignty.     The    free   songs,   so   deliciously   warbled    and 
heartily  delighted  in  by  bachelor  Little,  become  a  scandal  and 
a  nuisance  to  respectable  Mr.  Thomas  Moore,  husband  of  a 
worthy  wife,  and  father  of  piano-playing  daughters  ;  and  thus 
Social  Order,  without  directly  replying  to  the  sophistries  or 
resisting  the  vagaries  of  her  revolting  sons,  awaits  patiently 
the  inevitable  hour  when  they  shall  voluntarily  kneel  at  her 
feet  to  abjure  their  treason,  beg  her  forgiveness,  and  seek 
absolution. 

I  think  there  is  a  small  class  whom  mere  force  of  will,  or, 
rather,  a  spirit  of  antagonism,  impels  into  the  service  of  Ke- 
form.  These  mark  how  unequal  is  the  battle  ever  waged 
between  the  contending  hosts,  and  are  prompted  by  a  chival 
rous  sentiment  to  couch  a  lance  on  the  weaker  side.  They 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  517 

see  how  royalties,  hierarchies,  aristocracies,  bourgeoises,  all 
support  each  other  and  overbear  the  opposing  array,  —  how 
the  victory  so  grandly  won  by  Eadicalism  to-day  only  results 
at  last  in  widening  the  base  and  increasing  the  power  of  Con 
servatism  ;  and  they  mentally  say,  "  Here  goes  for  the  side 
which  must  triumph,  if  at  all,  against  immense  odds,  yet  can 
never  enjoy  the  fruits  of  a  victory  ! "  —  and  so  rush  in,  to  be 
cut  down,  thrust  back,  or  metamorphosed,  as  chance  or  Provi 
dence  may  determine. 

For  indeed  the  argument  for  Conservatism  is  intrinsically 
so  strong,  that  only  the  maddest  unwisdom,  the  most  prepos 
terous  displays  of  selfishness,  on  the  part  of  its  champions, 
could  possibly  overthrow  it.  No  monarchy  was  ever  under 
mined  or  overturned  except  through  some  monarch's  own 
blunders  or  crimes,  and  none  ever  will  be.  If  ever  man  of 
wealth  were  so  timorous  as  to  fear  that  the  houseless,  shiver 
ing  wretches  in  the  streets  would  eject  the  possessors  of 
stately,  comfortable  mansions,  and  sit  down  securely  in  their 
places,  he  evinced  a  want  of  sagacity  at  least  equal  to  his 
want  of  nerve.  If  a  city  could  be  sacked  by  its  desperate 
denizens/  the  first  set  who  effected  a  lodgement  in  its  palaces 
would  make  haste  to  shoot  the  residue  of  the  rabble  horde 
for  their  own  security,  and  so  would  weaken  themselves  be 
yond  the  possibility  of  maintaining  their  dizzy  altitude. 
Eadicalism  is  the  tornado,  the  earthquake,  which  comes,  acts, 
and  is  gone  for  a  century  ;  Conservatism  is  the  granite,  which 
may  be  chipped  away  here  or  there  to  build  a  new  house,  or 
let  a  railroad  pass,  but  which  will  substantially  abide  forever. 

The  argument  for  Conservatism  appeals  resistlessly  to  all 
who  have  good  digestive  organs  which  they  cherish,  with 
anything  satisfactory  whereon  to  employ  them.  The  natural 
presumption  that  whatever  has  stood  the  shocks  and  muta 
tions  of  centuries  is  deeply  grounded  in  Nature  and  the  Divine 
purpose,  is  wellnigh  invincible.  "  I  grant  you,"  says  the 
Conservative,  "  that  many  things  seem  rather  out  of  tune ; 
but  what  then  ?  Is  it  my  duty  to  upset  what  so  many 
great  and  good  men  have  left  untouched,  and  some  of  them 


518  MISCELLANIES. 

have  expressly  commended  ?  That  the  world  is  full  of 
ignorance  and  wrong,  crime  and  woe,  is  very  true ;  but  / 
cannot  help  that ;  and  it  will  do  no  good  to  shed  gallons  of 
tears  over  it,  and  try  to  put  others  into  mourning.  No :  let 
us  take  things  as  we  find  them;  relieve  distress  when  we 
can  afford  it,  and  float  along  as  nearly  with  the  current  as 
will  answer.  Bad  as  the  world  is,  a  man  with  good  fortune, 
(which  includes  health,)  a  reasonable  self-control,  a  tolerably 
clear  conscience,  a  well-filled  store-house,  and  a  fair  balance 
with  his  banker,  may  extract  a  good  deal  of  enjoyment  from 
it,  if  he  will  wisely  improve  his  opportunities,  and  not  in 
sist  on  making  himself  miserable  by  dabbling  too  deeply  in 
the  miseries  of  others."  Millions  live  all  of  this,  who  do 
not  say  more  than  half  of  it. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  instructive  spectacles  is  that  of 
the  impulsive  young  Radical  undergoing  a  gradual  trans 
formation,  or  cooling  off,  into  a  staid,  respectable  Conserva 
tive,  with  property  to  care  for,  a  position  to  maintain,  and  a 
reputation  to  cherish.  He  was  honest  of  yore,  and  is  honest 
(as  the  world  goes)  now;  but  circumstances  alter  cases. 
When  he  declaimed  against  the  monopoly  or  aggregation  of 
lands,  he  had  none  of  his  own  ;  but  he  has  since  become 
"  seized,"  as  the  lawyers  say,  of  a  snug  estate,  and  he  would 
not  like  to  have  any  one  seize  it  away  from  him.  It  may  be 
larger  than  one  man  absolutely  needs  ;  but  he  wants  to  im 
prove  it,  and  it  will  cut  up  nicely  among  his  rather  numerous 
children  or  nephews.  So  he  builds  him  an  elegant  mansion, 
surrounds  and  fills  it  with  evidences  of  taste  and  ministers  to 
luxury,  and  sits  down  to  contemplate  matters  in  general  more 
calmly  and  philosophically  than  he  did  in  his  impulsive, 
headlong  youth.  And  the  great  world  without  takes  on  a 
very  different  aspect  when  viewed  through  his  elegant  shrub 
bery,  adown  his  velvet  lawn,  and  colored  rosily  by  the  bumper 
of  generous  juice  which  often  gets  between  his  eyes  and  the 
distant  prospect,  from  that  it  wore  when  viewed  with  naked 
optics,  or  with  only  a  cup  of  crystal  water  between  him 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  519 

and  the  sun.  "  Yes,"  he  says,  slowly  and  languidly,  "  there 
is  need  of  Reform ;  but  let  it  be  effected  prudently  and  deco 
rously.  These  modern  Radicals  are  different  from  those  of  my 
young  days:  they  are  rash,  reckless,  destructive,  infidel;  I 
can  have  no  sympathy,  no  fellowship,  with  such."  True,  0 
Plutus  !  you  can  have  none.  But  "  prudently,"  did  you  say, 
sir  ?  Ah  no !  Reforms  of  any  depth  will  never  be  urged 
prudently  and  cautiously;  for,  if  their  advocates  were  pru 
dent,  they  would  not  be  Reformers  at  all.  Very  likely, 
Prudence  may  step  in  at  the  opportune  moment,  and  mediate 
successfully  between  heedless  Innovation  and  stubborn  Re 
action  ;  but  to  wait  for  Prudence  to  impel  a  Reform  is  to  wait 
for  Death  to  originate  Life. 

And,  indeed,  the  embarrassment  of  headlong  allies  is  one 
of  the  chief  sorrows  of  the  Reformer's  lot.  He  can  never 
say  "  A  "  without  some  one  else  following  with  a  "  B  "  which 
he  is  sure  does  not  belong  to  the  same  alphabet ;  but  this  the 
other  as  confidently  denies  ;  and  the  whole  Conservative  party 
backs  the  latter  with  all  its  force.  Luther's  career  was  per 
petually  made  thorny  by  this  sort  of  unwelcome  allies,  and 
Bossuet  knew  exactly  from  what  armory  to  draw  the  most 
deadly  shafts  to  hurl  against  the  advancing  hosts  of  the 
Reformation.  "  If  you  assert  this,  how  will  you  defend  your 
position  against  him  who  will  manifestly  assert  that  ?  If  you 
put  the  Bible  above  the  Church,  how  answer  him  who  puts 
Reason  above  the  Bible  ?  If  you  insist  that  every  man  shall 
be  allowed  to  vote,  how  resist  the  demand  that  every  woman 
be  equally  enfranchised  ?  If  you  repudiate  vindictive  pun 
ishments,  how  justify  punishment  at  all  ? "  I  think  it  was 
Brougham  who  observed,  that  there  never  yet  was  a  Reform 
proposed  that  might  not  have  been  defeated  by  giving  ade 
quate  weight  to  the  question,  "  If'  you  go  so  far,  why  not 
farther  ?  If  this  be  right,  is  not  more  equally  right  ?  And 
where  can  you  consistently  stop  ? "  Arid  thus  many  a  fiery 
Radical  has  been  cooled  down  into  placid  (or  acrid)  Con 
servatism,  by  discovering  that  the  character  of  his  associates, 


520  MISCELLANIES. 

the  tendency  of  their  doctrines,  the  ends  which  they  con 
templated,  were  such  as  he  could  never  approve. 

I  presume  there  are  not  many  Eeformers  worthy  of  the 
designation  who  ever  anticipated  fame  or  wealth  as  a  result 
of  their  labors  in  the  cause  of  Humanity.  Yet  I  recollect 
an  application  once  made  to  me  by  a  particularly  green 
youth,  who  wished  employment  as  a  writer  or  journalist, 
urging  as  an  inducement  that  he  thought  he  could  indite 
some  forcible  essay  in  favor  of  the  Eeforms  wherein  I  was 
deeply  interested.  "  My  friend,"  I  felt  constrained  to  reply, 
"  I  can  very  easily  write  myself  quite  as  much  in  favor  of 
those  Eeforms  as  the  public  will  bear ;  another  such  hand  at 
the  bellows  would  ruin  me."  Conservatism  has  many  faults, 
but  it  is  a  good  paymaster ;  while  Eadicalism  is  constitution 
ally  out  at  the  elbows,  and  may  toss  you  its  purse  with  ever 
so  lordly  an  air,  but  all  you  take  by  the  motion  is  a  poor  six 
penny  worth  of  dried  eelskin.  True,  now  and  then  a  Ee- 
former  lives  to  fight  out  his  special  battle,  and  secure  the 
hard-won  triumph  of  his  well-directed,  persistent  effort.  But 
by  this  time  Conservatism  has  taken  the  bantling  into  her 
snug  house,  there  to  fondle  and  cherish  it  as  her  own ;  while 
Eadicalism  has  swept  on  to  new  efforts,  new  struggles,  per 
haps  ultimately  new  triumphs :  so  the  forlorn  Eeformer 
stands  shivering  at  the  remorseless  door  which  has  en 
gulfed  his  darling ;  he  cannot  hope  to  overtake  the  rushing 
host,  which  is  now  far  on  its  eager  way,  and  indeed  he  has 
no  heart  for  the  attempt ;  so  he  commonly  ends  by  begging 
admittance  into  the  mansion,  and  the  privilege  of  now  and 
then  fondling  the  baby,  which  coolly  eyes  the  queer,  old, 
seedy  codger,  and  wonders  how  he  ever  wormed  his  way  into 
the  hallowed  precincts  of  Eespectability  and  Elegance.  He 
says  nothing,  for  his  heart  is  too  full ;  but  gathers  up  his 
tattered  garments  and  dies,  looking  fondly,  sadly,  on  that  cold, 
averted  face  to  the  last. 

To  the  earnest,  true  Eeformer,   life  is  indeed  no  holiday 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  521 

feast,  and  earth  no  Eden  garnished  with  singing-birds  and 
flowers.  The  most  sanguine,  buoyant  soul,  once  fairly  en 
tered  on  this  career,  is  not  long  in  learning  how  much 
stronger  is  old  Adam  than  young  Melancthon.  Not  merely 
that  his  bread  is  apt  to  be  coarse  and  his  couch  somewhat 
rugged,  —  he  was  prepared  for  this,  —  but  the  intractibility 
of  ignorance,  the  stubbornness  of  prejudice,  the  thanklessness 
of  those  arrested  in  a  downhill  career,  the  inefficiency  of 
effort,  and  "  the  heart-sickness  of  hope  deferred,"  are  indeed 
appalling.  Doubting,  irresolute  Hamlet  may  well  be  dis 
tracted,  not  so  much  by  the  fact  that  "  the  times  are  out  of 
joint,"  as  that  he  seems  to  have  been  "born  to  set  things 
right."  For  the  moral  dangers  of  the  Eeformer's  calling  are 
even  more  disheartening  than  its  pecuniary  discouragements. 
"  Do  you  know,"  said  a  broken-down  ex-lecturer  for  Temper 
ance,  Anti-Slavery,  &c.,  &c.,  once  to  me,  in  a  tone  and  with  a 
look  of  deep  meaning,  "  that  there  is  no  life  so  unhealthy  as 
that  of  a  popular  agitator  ? "  The  "  patriot  to  a  brewery" 
may  even  enjoy  it ;  but  for  the  proud,  shy,  home-bred  man, 
who  would  rather  see  the  smile  on  the  face  of  the  loved  one 
than  be  the  subject  of  a  civic  ovation,  and  rather  hear  the 
idle  prattle  of  his  babes  than  the  shouts  of  clustered  thou 
sands  responsive  to  his  burning  words,  it  is  a  cold,  stern  life 
that  he  leads ;  and  he  labors  under  constant  apprehensions 
that,  while  he  is  striving  to  diffuse  sentiments  of  benignity, 
generosity,  and  mercy,  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  by  rea 
son  of  those  very  efforts,  is  slowly  drying  up  in  his  own 
breast,  and  he,  while  still  struggling  earnestly,  though  some 
what  mechanically,  to  redeem  the  human  race,  is  coming 
gradually  to  dislike  and  despise  them. 

The  most  striking,  perhaps  the  only  general,  tribute  ever 
paid  to  the  position  and  merits  of  the  true  Eeformer  is  that 
embodied  in  the  universal  jeer  and  shout  which  announces 
the  exposure  of  the  fallen  aspirant  or  false  pretender.  As 
there  was  never  a  villain  who  did  not  hail  with  hearty  exul 
tation  the  exposure  of  a  priest's  lechery  or  a  moralist's 


522  MISCELLANIES. 

knavery,  so  the  lazy,  sensual,  luxury-loving,  money-grasping 
million  enjoy  nothing  more  keenly  than  the  tidings  that  one 
who  has  reproved  their  selfishness  and  made  them  uncomfort 
able  by  his  projects  of  social  melioration  or  homilies  on 
human  brotherhood  has  at  length  been  tempted  into  sin,  or 
turned  inside  out  by  some  casual  revelation,  and  proved  as 
selfish  and  venal  as  themselves.  As  the  news  is  rapidly  dis 
seminated,  the  face  of  sensualism  and  self-seeking  broadens 
into  one  universal  grin,  —  peal  after  peal  of  "unextinguished 
laughter"  disturbs  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere,  —  you 
might  suspect  from  hearing  it  that  everybody's  uncle  had 
died,  and  left  him  heir  to  a  bounteous  fortune.  The  grandest 
Hebrew  prophet,  looking  on  such  a  spectacle,  might  forcibly 
say,  as  of  old:  "Hell  from  beneath  is  stirred  up  to  meet 
thee ;  it  stirreth  up  its  denizens  to  inquire  exultingly,  '  Art 
thou  also  become  as  one  of  us  ? ' '  And  thus  the  Reformer 
who,  while  he  stood  erect,  seemed  beneath  the  meanest,— 
more  hated,  reviled,  and  despised,  —  shall  prove  by  his  fall 
that  he  was  dreaded,  and  really  honored,  as  well;  that  the 
devils  contemplated  his  efforts  in  the  spirit  which  believes 
and  trembles ;  that  those  who  most  defamed  and  misrepre 
sented,  yet  secretly  respected  and  wished  themselves  virtuous 
enough  to  be  almost,  if  not  altogether,  such  as  he.  And  thus 
a  career  which  in  its  progress  seemed  despised  and  repro 
bated  shall  yet  in  its  defeat  and  ruin  prove  to  have  been 
really  admired  and  honored,  even  by  those  who  lacked  virtue 
to  imitate  or  even  commend  it. 

Yet  this  shout  from  the  nethermost  hades  is  by  no  means 
justified  by  the  fact  on  which  it  is  based.  Men  are  often 
weak  and  fallible  in  action,  even  though  their  intellectual 
perception  of  the  right  is  of  the  deepest  and  clearest.  Ba 
con's  philosophy  is  sound  and  valuable,  though  Bacon  was  a 
corrupt  chancellor,  a  bribed  judge.  The  earth  does  move,  in 
accordance  with  Galileo's  hypothesis,  though  Galileo  himself 
was  induced  by  ghostly  fulminations  and  personal  perils  to 
recant  it.  Peter  might  have  denied  and  blasphemed  till 
doomsday  without  belittling  or  confounding  that  salvation  of 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  523 

which  he  had  been  chosen  a  witness  and  an  apostle.  Few 
men  .are  equal  in  their  daily  lives  to  the  moral  altitude  of 
their  highest  perceptions ;  and  all  the  confessors  and  martyrs 
might  apostatize,  and  heap  shame  on  their  own  heads,  with 
out  detracting  one  iota  from  the  worth  of  philanthropy  or 
Christianity.  Man  is  a  reed  which  the  slightest  breeze  de 
flects,  the  feeblest  step  prostrates ;  but  Truth  is  adamant  and 
eternal. 

Yes,  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  truly  a  Eeformer,  even  one 
misinterpreted  and  scorned  through  life,  as  what  genuine 
Eeformer  ever  failed  to  be.  The  tombs  of  the  dead  prophets 
are  built  only  of  the  stones  hurled  at  them  while  living ;  and 
thus  may  we  accurately  measure  the  greatness  of  their  daring, 
the  force  and  truth  of  their  unprecedented  utterances.  To 
speak  firmly  the  word  destined  ultimately  to  heal  Man's  dead 
liest  maladies,  yet  certain  instantly  to  evoke  his  direst  curses 
—  this  is  a  heroism  whereof  no  other  forlorn  hope  than  that 
of  Humanity  is  capable.  Idly,  weakly,  shall  the  timidly  per 
spicacious  hope  to  speak  the  great  truth,  yet  not  offend  the 
beneficiaries  of  current  falsehoods ;  to  declare  the  true  God, 
yet  excite  no  uproar  among  Diana's  silversmiths.  The  world 
was  never  created,  and  is  not  governed,  so  that  Policy  and 
Principle,  Time  and  Eternity,  God  and  Mammon,  can  all  be 
served  together.  If  they  could  be,  Virtue  would  be  merely 
shrewdness,  and  blindness  the  physical  synonyme  of  evil. 

But  what  then  ?  Do  we  say  that  the  path  of  Eectitude  is 
thorny  and  craggy,  and  that  the  only  verdure  and  balmy  sun 
shine  that  approach  it  are  those  of  the  adjacent,  alluring  by 
ways  of  Luxury  and  Ease,  leading  down  to  the  garden  of  Sen 
sual  Pleasure  ?  By  no  means.  What  is  affirmed  is  not  that 
Truth's  service  is  necessarily  one  of  privation  and  suffering, 
but  that  the  true  soldiers  never  choose  it  as  the  way  of  ease, 
of  ambition,  or  from  any  selfish  consideration  whatever,  but 
because  it  is  the  way  of  Eight.  "  Necessity  is  upon  me," 
says  the  true  Apostle ;  his  course  is  one  dictated  to  him  by 


524  MISCELLANIES. 

considerations  higher  than  any  hopes  of  heaven,  deeper  than 
any  fears  of  hell.  Doubtless,  to  the  eye  of  sense,  his  career 
seems  dwarfish,  his  aspirations  baffled,  his  life  a  defeat  and  a 
failure.  But  he  has  never  appealed  to  the  ordeal  of  sense,  and 
feels  under  no  obligation  to  accept  its  judgments.  Who  shall 
say  that  Nebuchadnezzar  on  his  throne  is  happier  than  Daniel 
in  his  prison  ?  or  that  Herod  in  his  palace,  gorged  with  Epi 
curean  dainties,  and  gloating  over  voluptuous  music  and  dan 
cing,  is  more  blest  than  the  uncouth,  stern-souled  Baptist, 
striding  in  solitary  hunger  over  sun-scorched  deserts  of  rock 
and  sand,  —  very  far  from  luxury,  but  very  near  to  God,  —  or 
contemplating  his  swiftly  approaching  death  in  a  malefactor's 
dungeon  ?  Jerusalem  and  the  Temple,  the  Palace  and  its 
gardens,  are  the  possessions  of  the  former  ;  but  what  are  they 
to  the  celestial  splendors,  the  eternal  verities,  which  are  present 
to  the  rapt,  adoring  gaze  of  the  latter,  and  gild  the  visions  of' 
his  rocky  couch  with  a  glory  inconceivable  to  the  apprehen 
sion  of  the  Sadducee  ? 

These  two  can  never  understand  each  other  while  they 
remain  essentially  as  now.  The  unbelief  that  questions,  and 
cavils,  and  scruples,  and  doubts,  and  denies,  seems  to  him 
incomparably  less  virulent  and  fearful  than  that  which  makes 
mitres  and  triple-crowns  counters  of  a  sordid  ambition,  and 
shakes  the  keys  of  eternal  bliss  or  woe  in  the  face  of  long- 
suffering  millions,  to  make  them  bow  their  necks  passively 
to  the  yoke  of  a  soul-crushing  despotism. 

For,  indeed,  to  the  Eeformer's  apprehension,  nothing  can 
be  more  absurd  than  the  dread  of  irreligion  professed  by  men 
whose  daily  lives  are  a  proclamation  of  indifference  to  the 
wants  and  wrongs  of  the  benighted  and  destitute,  —  who  are 
so  intent  on  having  the  Poor  evangelized,  that  they  do  not 
ask  how  they  are  to  be  fed,  —  and  who  act  as  though  a  plen 
tiful  distribution  of  tracts  and  Bibles  would  alone  suffice  to 
banish  evil  from  the  earth. 

To  the  Conservative,  Religion  would  seem  often  a  part  of 
the  subordinate  machinery  of  Police,  having  for  its  main 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  525 

object  the  instilling  of  proper  humility  into  the  abject,  of 
contentment  into  the  breasts  of  the  down-trodden,  and  of 
enduing  with  a  sacred  reverence  for  Property  those  who  have 
no  personal  reason  to  think  well  of  the  sharp  distinction  of 
Mine  and  Thine.  The  Eeformer,  on  the  other  hand,  insists  on 
Humanity  as  the  inevitable  manifestation  of  all  true  Reli 
gion,  presses  the  best-beloved  Apostle's  searching  question, 
"  If  a  man  love  not  his  brother,  whom  he  has  seen,  how  can 
he  love  God,  whom  he  -has  not  seen  "  ?  or,  as  a  poet  of  our  own 
day  has  phrased  it,  affirms  that  there 

"  are  infidels  to  Adam  worse  than  infidels  to  God," 

and  that  the  effective  answer  to  an  imperfect,  halting  faith,  is 
a  devoted,  loving  life. 

This  earnest,  angry  strife  shall  yet  be  composed,  —  this 
stormy  clamor  be  hushed,  —  not  through  the  absolute  defeat 
of  either  party,  but  through  the  recognition  by  each  of  the 
truth  affirmed  by  the  other,  so  that  Conservatism  and  Reform 
shall  take  their  places  side  by  side  on  the  same  platform,  and 
Faith  and  Life,  Humanity  and  Christianity,  be  recognized  by 
our  enlarged  vision  as  halves  of  the  same  unit,  planets  re 
volving  around  and  lighted  in  turn  by  the  same  sun  of  Ever 
lasting  Truth.  Meantime,  let  us  cherish  the  Reformer !  for 
his,  and  not  the  Conservative's,  is  the  active,  aggressive  force 
through  which  this  ultimate  harmonization  of  the  Real  with 
the  Ideal  is  to  be  achieved.  Harsh  and  sweeping,  rash  and 
destructive,  he  may  seem,  and  often  is ;  but  his  fire,  however 
blind  and  indiscriminate  its  rage,  will  be  found  at  last  to  have 
left  unconsumed  all  that  was  really  worth  preserving.  With 
him,  while  we  respect  the  proper  force  and  legitimate  function 
of  Conservatism,  we  must  say  — 

"  Standing  still  is  childish  folly ; 
Going  backward  is  a  crime ; 
None  should  patiently  endure 
Any  ill  that  he  can  cure  : 
ONWARD  !  keep  the  march  of  Time ! 
ONWARD  !  while  a  wrong  remains 
To  be  conquered  by  the  right, 


526  MISCELLANIES. 

While  Oppression  lifts  a  finger 

To  affront  us  by  his  might, 
While  an  error  clouds  the  reason 

Of  the  universal  heart, 
Or  a  slave  awaits  his  freedom, 

ACTION  is  the  wise  man's  part." 

And  to  him  our  final  word  of  gratitude  and  cheer  shall 
fitly  be— 

"  We  thank  thee,  watcher  on  the  lonely  tower, 
For  all  thou  tellest  of  the  coming  hour 
When  Error  shall  decay  and  Truth  grow  strong, 
And  Right  shall  rule  supreme  and  vanquish  Wrong." 

And,  indeed,  though  the  life  of  the  Keformer  may  seem 
rugged  and  arduous,  it  were  hard  to  say  considerately  that 
any  other  were  worth  living  at  all.  Who  can  thoughtfully 
affirm  that  the  career  of  the  conquering,  desolating,  subju 
gating  warrior,  —  of  the  devotee  of  Gold,  or  Pomp,  or  Sensual 
Joys ;  the  Monarch  in  his  purple,  the  Miser  by  his  chest, 
the  wassailer  over  his  bowl,  —  is  not  a  libel  on  Humanity 
and  an  offence  against  God  ?  But  the  earnest,  unselfish  Ke 
former,  —  born  into  a  state  of  darkness,  evil,  and  suffering, 
and  honestly  striving  to  replace  these  by  light,  and  purity, 
and  happiness,  —  he  may  fall  and  die,  as  so  many  have  done 
before  him,  but  he  cannot  fail.  His  vindication  shall  gleam 
from  the  walls  of  his  hovel,  his  dungeon,  his  tomb  ;  it  shall 
shine  in  the  radiant  eyes  of  uncorrupted  Childhood,  and  fall 
in  blessings  from  the  lips  of  high-hearted,  generous  Youth. 
As  the  untimely  death  of  the  good  is  our  strongest  moral 
assurance  of  the  Eesurrection,  so  the  life  wearily  worn  out  in 
doubtful  and  perilous  conflict  with  Wrong  and  Woe  is  our 
most  conclusive  evidence  that  Wrong  and  Woe  shall  yet 
vanish  forever.  Luther,  dying  amid  the  agonizing  tears  and 
wild  consternation  of  all  Protestant  Germany,  —  Columbus, 
borne  in  regal  pomp  to  his  grave  by  the  satellites  of  the  royal 
miscreant  whose  ingratitude  and  perfidy  had  broken  his 
mighty  heart,  —  Lovejoy,  pouring  out  his  life-blood  beside 
the  Press  whose  freedom  he  had  so  gallantly  defended,  —  yes, 
and  not  less  majestic,  certainly  not  less  tragic,  than  either,  the 


REFORMS  AND  REFORMERS.  527 

lowly  and  lonely  couch  of  the  dying  '  Uncle  Tom,'  whose 
whole  life  had  been  a  brave  and  Christian  battle  against 
monstrous  injustice  and  crime,  —  these  teach  us,  at  least,  that 
all  true  greatness  is  ripened,  and  tempered,  and  proved,  in 
life-long  struggle  against  vicious  beliefs,  traditions,  practices, 
institutions  ;  and  that  not  to  have  been  a  Eeformer  is  not  to 
have  truly  lived.  Life  is  a  bubble  which  any  breath  may 
dissolve ;  Wealth  or  Power  a  snow-flake,  melting  momently 
into  the  treacherous  deep  across  whose  waves  we  are  floated 
on  to  our  unseen  destiny ;  but  to  have  lived  so  that  one  less 
orphan  is  called  to  choose  between  starvation  and  infamy, 
—  one  less  slave  feels  the  lash  applied  in  mere  wantonness  or 
cruelty,  —  to  have  lived  so  that  some  eyes  of  those  whom 
Fame  shall  never  know  are  brightened  and  others  suffused  at 
the  name  of  the  beloved  one,  —  so  that  the  few  who  knew 
him  truly  shall  recognize  him  as  a  bright,  warm,  cheering 
presence,  which  was  here  for  a  season  and  left  the  world  no 
worse  for  his  stay  in  it,  —  this  surely  is  to  have  really  lived t 
—  and  not  wholly  in  vain. 


THE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.* 


MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  RESPECTED  AUDITORS  :  — 

IT  has  devolved  on  me,  as  junior  advocate  for  the  cause  of 
Protection,  to  open  the  discussion  of  this  question.  I  do 
this  with  less  diffidence  than  I  should  feel  •  in  meeting  able 
opponents  and  practised  disputants  on  almost  any  other  topic, 
because  I  am  strongly  confident  that  you,  my  hearers,  will 
regard  this  as  a  subject  demanding  logic  rather  than  rhetoric, 
the  exhibition  and  proper  treatment  of  homely  truths,  rather 
than  the  indulgence  of  flights  of  fancy.  As  sensible  as  you  can 
be  of  my  deficiencies  as  a  debater,  I  have  chosen  to  put  my 
views  on  paper,  in  order  that  I  may  present  them  in  as  con 
cise  a  manner  as  possible,  and  not  consume  my  hour  before 
commencing  my  argument.  You  have  nothing  of  oratory  to 
lose  by  this  course ;  I  will  hope  that  something  may  be  gained 
to  my  cause  in  clearness  and  force.  And  here  let  me  say  that, 
while  the  hours  I  have  been  enabled  to  give  to  preparation 
for  this  debate  have  been  few  indeed,  I  feel  the  less  regret  in 
that  my  life  has  been  in  some  measure  a  preparation.  If  there 
be  any  subject  to  which  I  have  devoted  time,  and  thought,  and 
patient  study,  in  a  spirit  of  anxious  desire  to  learn  and  follow 
the  truth,  it  is  this  very  question  of  Protection ;  if  I  have 
totally  misapprehended  its  character  and  bearings,  then  am 

*  Speech  at  the  Tabernacle,  New  York,  February  10,  1843,  in  public  debate 
on  this  resolution  :  — 

Resolved,  That  a  Protective  Tariff  is  conducive  to  our  National  Prosperity. 
Affirmative :  JOSEPH  BLUNT,  Negative :  SAMUEL  J.  TILDEN, 

HORACE  GREELEY.  PARKE  GODWIN. 


THE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.        52 


I  ignorant,  hopelessly  ignorant  indeed.  And,  while  I  may  not 
hope  to  set  before  you,  in  the  brief  space  allotted 'me,  all  that 
is  essential  to  a  full  understanding  of  a  question  which  spans 
the  whole  arch  of  Political  Economy,  —  on  which  abler  men 
have  written  volumes  without  at  all  exhausting  it,  —  I  do 
entertain  a  sanguine  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  set  before 
you  considerations  conclusive  to  the  candid  and  unbiassed 
mind  of  the  policy  and  necessity  of  Protection. 

Let  us  not  waste  our  time  on  non-essentials.  That  unwise 
and  unjust  measures  have  been  adopted  under  the  pretence  of 
Protection,  I  stand  not  here  to  deny;  that  laws  intended  to  be 
Protective  have  sometimes  been  injurious  in  their  tendency, 
I  need  not  dispute.  The  logic  which  would  thence  infer  the 
futility  or  the  danger  of  Protective  Legislation -would  just  as 
easily  prove  all  laws  and  all  policy  mischievous  and  destruc 
tive.  Political  Economy  is  one  of  the  latest-born  of  the 
Sciences ;  the  very  fact  that  we  meet  here  this  evening  to 
discuss  a  question  so  fundamental  as  this  proves  it  to  be  yet 
in  its  comparative  infancy.  The  sole  favor  I  shall  ask  of  my 
opponents,  therefore,  is  that  they  will  not  waste  their  efforts 
and  your  time  in  attacking  positions  that  we  do  not  maintain, 
and  hewing  down  straw  giants  of  their  own  manufacture,  but 
meet  directly  the  arguments  which  I  shall  advance,  and 
which,  for  the  sake  of  simplicity  and  clearness,  I  will  proceed 
to  put  before  you  in  the  form  of  Propositions  and  their  Illus 
trations,  as  follows :  — 

Proposition  I.  A  NATION  WHICH  WOULD  BE  PROSPEROUS, 
MUST  PROSECUTE  VARIOUS  BRANCHES  OF  INDUSTRY,  AND  SUPPLY 
ITS  VITAL  WANTS  MAINLY  BY  THE  LABOR  OF  ITS  OWN  HANDS. 

Cast  your  eyes  where  you  will  over  the  face  of  the  earth, 
trace  back  the  History  of  Man  and  of  Nations  to  the 
earliest  recorded  periods,  and  I  think  you  will  find  this  rule 
uniformly  prevailing,  that  the  nation  which  is  eminently  Agri 
cultural  and  Grain-exporting, — which  depends  mainly  or 
principally  on  other  nations  for  its  regular  supplies  of  Manu 
factured  fabrics,  —  has  been  comparatively  a  poor  nation,  and 

34 


530  MISCELLANIES. 

'  J/ 

ultimately  a  dependent  nation.  I  do  not  say  that  this  is  the 
instant  result  of  exchanging  the  rude  staples  of  Agriculture 
for  the  more  delicate  fabrics  of  Art ;  but  I  maintain  that  it  is 
the  inevitable  tendency.  The  Agricultural  nation  falls  in 
debt,  becomes  impoverished,  and  ultimately  subject.  The 
palaces  of  "  merchant  princes  "  may  emblazon  its  harbors  and 
overshadow  its  navigable  waters ;  there  may  be  a  mighty 
Alexandria,  but  a  miserable  Egypt  behind  it ;  a  nourishing 
Odessa  or  Dantzie,  but  a  rude,  thinly  peopled  southern  Kussia 
or  Poland ;  the  exchangers  may  nourish  and  roll  in  luxury, 
but  the  producers  famish  and  die.  Indeed,  few  old  and 
civilized  countries  become  largely  exporters  of  grain  until 
they  have  lost,  or  by  corruption  are  prepared  to  surrender, 
their  independence ;  and  these  often  present  the  spectacle  of 
the  laborer  starving  on  the  fields  he  has  tilled,  in  the  midst 
of  their  fertility  and  promise.  These  appearances  rest  upon 
and  indicate  a  law,  which  I  shall  endeavor  hereafter  to  ex 
plain.  I  pass  now  to  my 

Proposition  II.  THERE  is  A  NATURAL  TENDENCY  IN  A  COM 
PARATIVELY  NEW  COUNTRY  TO  BECOME  AND  CONTINUE  AN 
EXPORTER  OF  GRAIN  AND  OTHER  RUDE  STAPLES  AND  AN  IM 
PORTER  OF  MANUFACTURES. 

I  think  I  hardly  need  waste  time  in  demonstrating  this 
proposition,  since  it  is  illustrated  and  confirmed  by  universal 
experience,  and  rests  on  obvious  laws.  The  new  country  has 
abundant  and  fertile  soil,  and  produces  Grain  with  remarkable 
facility  ;  also,  Meats,  Timber,  Ashes,  and  most  rude  and  bulky 
articles.  Labor  is  there  in  demand,  being  required  to  clear, 
to  build,  to  open  roads,  &c.,  and  the  laborers  are  comparatively 
few ;  while,  in  older  countries,  Labor  is  abundant  and  cheap, 
as  also  are  Capital,  Machinery,  and  all  the  means  of  the 
cheap  production  of  Manufactured  fabrics.  I  surely  need  not 
waste  words  to  show  that,  in  the  absence  of  any  counteracting 
policy,  the  new  country  will  import,  and  continue  to  import, 
largely  of  the  fabrics  of  older  countries,  and  to  pay  for  them, 
so  far  as  she  may,  with  her  Agricultural  staples.  I  will 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION. 


531 


endeavor  to  show  hereafter  that  she  will  continue  to  do  this 
long  after  she  has  attained  a  condition  to  manufacture  them 
as  cheaply  for  herself,  even  regarding  the  money  cost  alone. 
But  that  does  not  come  under  the  present  head.  The  whole 
history  of  our  country,  and  especially  from  1782  to  '90,  when 
we  had  no  Tariff  and  scarcely  any  Paper  Money,  —  proves 
that,  whatever  may  be  the  Currency  or  the  internal  condi 
tion  of  the  new  country,  it  will  continue  to  draw  its  chief 
supplies  from  the  old,  —  large  or  small  according  to  its  meas 
ure  of  ability  to  pay  or  obtain  credit  for  them ;  but  still, 
putting  Duties  on  Imports  out  of  the  question,  it  will  con 
tinue  to  buy  its  Manufactures  abroad,  whether  in  prosperity 
or  adversity,  inflation  or  depression. 

I  now  advance  to  my 

^Proposition  III.  IT  is  INJURIOUS  TO  THE  NEW  COUNTRY 
THUS  TO  CONTINUE  DEPENDENT  FOR  ITS  SUPPLIES  OF  CLOTHING 
AND  MANUFACTURED  FABRICS  ON  THE  OLD. 

As  this  is  probably  the  point  on  which  the  doctrines  of 
Protection  first  come  directly  in  collision  with  those  of  Free 
Trade,  I  will  treat  it  more  deliberately,  and  endeavor  to  illus 
trate  and  demonstrate  it. 

I  presume  I  need  not  waste  time  in  proving  that  the  ruling 
price  of  Grain  (as  of  any  Manufacture)  in  a  region  whence 
it  is  considerably  exported,  will  be  its  price  at  the  point  to 
which  it  is  exported,  less  the  cost  of  such  transportation.  For 
instance :  the  cost  of  transporting  Wheat  hither  from  large 
grain-growing  sections  of  Illinois  was  last  fall  sixty  cents ; 
and,  New  York  being  their  most  available  market,  and  the 
price  here  ninety  cents,  the  market  there  at  once  settled  at 
thirty  cents.  As  this  adjustment  of  prices  rests  on  a  law 
obvious,  immutable  as  gravitation,  I  presume  I  need  not  waste 
words  in  establishing  it. 

I  proceed,  then,  to  my  next  point.  The  average  price  of 
Wheat  throughout  the  world  is  something  less  than  one  dollar 
per  bushel;  higher  where  the  consumption  largely  exceeds 


532  MISCELLANIES. 

the  adjacent  production,  —  lower  where  the  production  largely 
exceeds  the  immediate  consumption  (I  put  out  of  view  in  this 
statement  the  inequalities  created  by  Tariffs,  as  I  choose  at 
this  point  to  argue  the  question  on  the  basis  of  universal  Free 
Trade,  which  is  of  course  the  basis  most  favorable  to  my 
opponents).     I  say,  then,  if  all  Tariffs  were  abolished  to-mor 
row,  the  price  of  Wheat  in  England  —  that  being  the  most 
considerable  ultimate  market  of  surpluses,  and  the  chief  sup 
plier  of  our  manufactures  —  would  govern  the  price  in  this 
country,  while  it  would  be  itself  governed  by  the  price  at 
which  that  staple  could  be  procured  in  sufficiency  from  other 
grain-growing  regions.     Now,  Southern  Russia  and  Central 
Poland  produce  Wheat  for  exportation  at  thirty  to  fifty  cents 
per  bushel ;  but  the  price  is  so  increased  by  the  cost  of  trans 
portation  that  at   Dantzic  it  averages  some   ninety  and  at 
Odessa  some  eighty  cents  per  bushel.     The  cost  of  importa 
tion  to  England  from  these  ports  being  ten  and  fifteen  cents 
respectively,  the  actual  cost  of  the  article  in  England,  all 
charges  paid,  and  allowing  for  a  small  increase  of  price  con 
sequent  on  the  increased  demand,  would  not,  in  the  absence 
of  all  Tariffs  whatever,  exceed  one  dollar  and  ten  cents  per 
bushel;  and  this  would  be  the  average  price  at  which  we  must 
sell  it  in  England  in  order  to  buy  thence  the  great  bulk  of 
our  Manufactures.     I  think  no  man  will  dispute  or  seriously 
vary  this  calculation.     Neither  can  any  reflecting  man  seri 
ously  contend  that  we  could  purchase  forty  or  fifty  millions' 
worth  or  more  of  Foreign  Manufactures  per  annum,  and  pay 
for  them  in  additional  products  of  our  Slave  Labor  — in  Cot 
ton  and  Tobacco.     The  consumption  of  these  articles  is  now 
pressed  to  its  utmost  limit,— that  of  Cotton  especially  is 
borne  down  by  the  immense  weight  of  the  crops  annually 
thrown  upon  it,  and  almost  constantly  on  the  verge  of  a  glut. 
If  we  are  to  buy  our  Manufactures  principally  from  Europe, 
we  must  pay  for  the  additional  amount  mainly  in  the  pro 
ducts  of  Northern  Agricultural  industry,  —  that  is  universally 
agreed  on.     The  point  to  be  determined  is,  whether  we  could 
obtain  them  abroad  cheaper  —  really  and  positively  cheaper, 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  533 

all  Tariffs  being  abrogated  —  than  under  an  efficient  system  of 
Protection. 

Let  us  closely  scan  this  question.  Illinois  and  Indiana, 
natural  grain-growing  States,  need  Cloths ;  and,  in  the  absence 
of  all  Tariffs,  these  can  be  transported  to  them  from  England 
for  two  to  three  per  cent,  of  their  value.  It  follows,  then, 
that,  in  order  to  undersell  any  American  competition,  the  Brit 
ish  Manufacturer  need  only  put  his  cloths  at  his  factory  Jive 
per  cent,  below  the  wholesale  price  of  such  cloths  in  Illinois,  in 
order  to  command  the  American  market.  That  is,  allowing 
a  fair  broadcloth  to  be  manufactured  in  or  near  Illinois  for 
three  dollars  and  a  quarter  per  yard,  cash  price,  in  the  face 
of  British  rivalry,  and  paying  American  prices  for  materials 
and  labor,  the  British  manufacturer  has  only  to  make  that 
same  cloth  at  three  dollars  per  yard  in  Leeds  or  Huddersfield, 
and  he  can  decidedly  undersell  his  American  rival,  and  drive 
him  out  of  the  market.  Mind,  I  do  not  say  that  he  would 
supply  the  Illinois  market  at  that  price  after  the  American 
rivalry  had  been  crushed  ;  I  know  he  would  not ;  but,  so  long  as 
any  serious  effort  to  build  up  or  sustain  Manufactures  in  this 
country  existed,  the  large  and  strong  European  establishments 
would  struggle  for  the  additional  market  which  our  growing  and 
plenteous  country  so  invitingly  proffers.  It  is  well  known  that 
in  1815  - 16,  after  the  close  of  the  Last  War,  British  Manufac 
tures  were  offered  for  sale  in  our  chief  markets  at  the  rate 
of  " pound  for  pound" -  —  that  is,  fabrics  of  which  the  first 
cost  to  the  manufacturer  was  $  4.44  were  offered  in  Boston 
market  at  $  3.33,  duty  paid.  This  was  not  sacrifice,  —  it  was 
dictated  by  a  profound  forecast.  Well  did  the  foreign  fabri- 
cants  know  that  their  self-interest  dictated  the  utter  over 
throw,  at  whatever  cost,  of  the  young  rivals  which  the  war 
had  built  up  in  this  Country,  and  which  our  Government  and 
a  majority  of  the  People  had  blindly  or  indolently  abandoned 
to  their  fate.  William  Cobbett,  the  celebrated  Ptadical,  but 
with  a  sturdy  English  heart,  boasted  upon  his  first  return  to 
England  that  he  had  been  actively  engaged  here  in  promoting 
the  interests  of  Ms  country  by  compassing  the  destruction  of 


534  MISCELLANIES. 

American  Manufactories  in  various  ways  which  he  specified, 
—  "  sometimes  (says  he)  l>y  fire."  We  all  know  that  great 
sacrifices  are  often  submitted  to  by  a  rich  and  long-established 
stage-owner,  steamboat  proprietor,  or  whatever,  to  break  down 
a  young  and  comparatively  penniless  rival.  So  in  a  thousand 
instances,  especially  in  a  rivalry  for  so  large  a  prize  as  the 
supplying  with  Manufactures  of  a  great  and  growing  Nation. 
But  I  here  put  aside  all  calculations  of  a  temporary  sacrifice  ; 
I  suppose  merely  that  the  foreign  manufacturers  will  supply 
our  Grain-growing  States  with  Cloths  at  a  trifling  profit  so 
long  as  they  encounter  American  rivalry  ;  and  I  say  it  is  per 
fectly  obvious  that,  if  it  cost  three  dollars  and  a  quarter  a 
yard  to  make  a  fair  broadcloth  in  or  near  Illinois,  in  the 
infancy  of  our  arts,  and  a  like  article  could  be  made  in  Europe 
for  three  dollars,  then  the  utter  destruction  of  the  American 
manufacture  is  inevitable.  The  Foreign  drives  it  out  of  the 
market  and  its  maker  into  bankruptcy ;  and  now  our  farmers, 
in  purchasing  their  cloths,  "  buy  where  they  can  buy  cheapest," 
which  is  the  first  commandment  of  Free  Trade,  and  get  their 
cloth  of  England  at  three  dollars  a  yard.  I  maintain  that 
this  would  not  last  a  year  after  the  American  factories  had 
been  silenced,  —  that  then  the  British  operator  would  begin 
to  think  of  profits  as  well  as  bare  cost  for  his  cloth,  and  to 
adjust  his  prices' so  as  to  recover  what  it  had  cost  him  to  put 
down  the  dangerous  competition.  But  let  this  pass  for  the 
present,  and  say  the  Foreign  Cloth  is  sold  to  Illinois  for  three 
dollars  per  yard.  We  have  yet  to  ascertain  how  much  she 
has  gained  or  lost  by  the  operation. 

This,  says  Free  Trade,  is  very  plain  and  easy.  The  four 
simple  rules  of  Arithmetic  suffice  to  measure  it.  She  has 
bought,  say  a  million  yards  of  Foreign  Cloth  for  three  dollars, 
where  she  formerly  paid  three  and  a  quarter  for  American ; 
making  a  clear  saving  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars. 

But  not  so  fast,  —  we  have  omitted  one  important  element 
of  the  calculation.  We  have  yet  to  see  what  effect  the  pur 
chase  of  her  Cloth  in  Europe,  as  contrasted  with  its  manufac 
ture  at  home,  will  have  on  the  price  of  her  Agricultural  sta- 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  535 

pies.  We  have  seen  already  that,  in  case  she  is  forced  to  sell 
a  portion  of  her  surplus  product  in  Europe,  the  price  of  that 
surplus  must  be  the  price  which  can  be  procured  for  it  in 
England,  less  the  cost  of  carrying  it  there.  In  other  words  : 
the  average  price  in  England  being  one  dollar  and  ten  cents, 
and  the  average  cost  of  bringing  it  to  New  York  being  at 
least  fifty  cents  and  then  of  transporting  it  to  England  at 
least  twenty-five  more,  the  net  proceeds  to  Illinois  cannot  ex 
ceed  thirty-five  cents  per  bushel.  I  need  not  more  than  state 
so  obvious  a  truth  as  that  the  price  at  which  the  surplus  can 
be  sold  governs  the  price  of  the  whole  crop ;  nor,  indeed,  if  it 
were  possible  to  deny  this  would  it  at  all  affect  the  argument. 
The  real  question  to  be  determined  is,  not  whether  the  Amer 
ican  or  the  British  manufacturers  will  furnish  the  most  cloth 
for  the  least  cash,  but  which  will  supply  the  requisite  quan 
tity  of  Cloth  for  the  least  Grain  in  Illinois.  Now  we  have 
seen  already  that  the  price  of  Grain  at  any  point  where  it  is 
readily  and  largely  produced  is  governed  by  its  nearness  to  or 
remoteness  from  the  market  to  which  its  surplus  tends,  and 
the  least  favorable  market  in  which  any  portion  of  it  must  be 
sold.  For  instance :  if  Illinois  produces  a  surplus  of  five 
million  bushels  of  Grain,  and  can  sell  one  million  of  bushels 
in  New  York,  and  two  millions  in  New  England,  and  another 
million  in  the  West  Indies,  and  for  the  fifth  million  is  com 
pelled  to  seek  a  market  in  England,  and  that,  being  the  remot 
est  point  at  which  she  sells,  and  the  point  most  exposed  to 
disadvantageous  competition,  is  naturally  the  poorest  market, 
that  farthest  and  lowest  market  to  which  she  sends  her  sur 
plus  will  govern,  to  a  great  extent  if  not  absolutely,  the  price 
she  receives  for  the  whole  surplus.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
let  her  Cloths,  her  Wares,  be  manufactured  in  her  midst,  or  on 
the  junctions  and  waterfalls  in  her  vicinity,  thus  affording  an 
immediate  market  for  her  Grain,  and  now  the  average  price 
of  it  rises,  by  an  irresistible  law,  nearly  or  quite  to  the  aver 
age  of  the  world.  Assuming  that  average  to  be  one  dollar, 
the  price  in  Illinois,  making  allowance  for  the  fertility  and 
cheapness  of  her  soil,  could  not  fall  below  an  average  of  sev- 


536  MISCELLANIES. 

enty-five  cents.  Indeed,  the  experience  of  the  periods  when 
her  consumption  of  Grain  has  been  equal  to  her  production, 
as  well  as  that  of  other  sections  where  the  same  has  been  the 
case,  proves  conclusively  that  the  average  price  of  her  Wheat 
would  exceed  that  sum. 

We  are  now  ready  to  calculate  the  profit  and  loss.  Illinois, 
under  Free  Trade,  with  her  "  workshops  in  Europe,"  will  buy 
her  cloth  twenty-five  cents  per  yard  cheaper,  and  thus  make 
a  nominal  saving  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
in  her  year's  supply ;  but,  she  thereby  compels  herself  to  pay 
for  it  in  Wheat  at  thirty-five  instead  of  seventy-five  cents  per 
bushel,  or  to  give  over  nine  and  one  third  bushels  of  Wheat 
for  every  yard  under  Free  Trade,  instead  of  four  and  a  third 
under  a  system  of  Home  Production.  In  other  words,  while 
she  is  making  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  by  buying  her 
Cloth  "  where  she  can  buy  cheapest,"  she  is  losing  nearly  Two 
Millions  of  Dollars  on  the  net  product  of  her  Grain.  The 
striking  of  a  balance  between  her  profit  and  her  loss  is  cer 
tainly  not  a  difficult,  but  rather  an  unpromising,  operation. 

Or,  let  us  state  the  result  in  another  form :  She  can  buy 
her  cloth  a  little  cheaper  in  England,  —  Labor  being  there 
lower,  Machinery  more  perfect,  and  Capital  more  abundant ; 
but,  in  order  to  pay  for  it,  she  must  not  merely  sell  her  own 
products  at  a  correspondingly  low  price,  but  enough  lower  to 
overcome  the  cost  of  transporting  them  from  Illinois  to  Eng 
land.  She  will  give  the  cloth-maker  in  England  less  Grain 
for  her  Cloth  than  she  would  give  to  the  man  who  made  it  on 
her  own  soil;  but  for  every  bushel  she  sends  him  in  payment 
for  his  fabric,  she  must  give  two  to  the  wagoner,  boatman, 
shipper,  and  factor,  who  transport  it  thither.  On  the  whole 
product  of  her  industry,  two  thirds  is  tolled  out  by  carriers 
and  bored  out  by  Inspectors,  until  but  a  beggarly  remnant  is 
left  to  satisfy  the  fabricator  of  her  goods. 

And  here  I  trust  I  have  made  obvious  to  you  the  law 
which  dooms  an  Agricultural  Country  to  inevitable  and  ruin 
ous  disadvantage  in  exchanging  its  staples  for  Manufactures, 


THE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.         537 

and  involves  it  in  perpetual  and  increasing  debt  and  depend 
ence.  The  fact,  I  early  alluded  to ;  is  not  the  reason  now 
apparent  ?  It  is  not  that  Agricultural  communities  are  more 
extravagant  or  less  industrious  than  those  in  which  Manufac 
tures  or  Commerce  preponderate,  —  it  is  because  there  is  an 
inevitable  disadvantage  to  Agriculture  in  the  very  nature  of 
all  distant  exchanges.  Its  products  are  far  more  perishable 
than  any  other ;  they  cannot  so  well  await  a  future  demand ; 
but  in  their  excessive  bulk  and  density  is  the  great  evil.  We 
have  seen  that,  while  the  English  Manufacturer  can  send  his 
fabrics  to  Illinois  for  less  than  five  per  cent,  on  their  first 
cost,  the  Illinois  farmer  must  pay  two  hundred  per  cent,  on 
his  Grain  for  its  transportation  to  English  consumers.  In 
other  words  :  the  English  manufacturer  need  only  produce  his 
goods  five  per  cent,  below  the  American  to  drive  the  latter 
out  of  the  Illinois  market,  the  Illinoian  must  produce  wheat 
for  one  third  of  its  English  price  in  order  to  compete  with  the 
English  and  Polish  grain-grower  in  Birmingham  and  Shef 
field. 

And  here  is  the  answer  to  that  scintillation  of  Free  Trade 
wisdom  which  flashes  out  in  wonder  that  Manufactures  are 
eternally  and  especially  in  want  of  Protection,  while  Agricul 
ture  and  Commerce  need  none.  The  assumption  is  false  in 
any  sense,  —  our  Commerce  and  Navigation  cannot  live  with 
out  Protection,  —  never  did  live  so,  —  but  let  that  pass.  It  is 
the  interest  of  the  whole  country  which  demands  that  that 
portion  of  its  Industry  which  is  most  exposed  to  ruinous 
foreign  rivalry  should  be  cherished  and  sustained.  The 
wheat-grower,  the  grazier,  is  protected  by  ocean  and  land  ; 
by  the  fact  that  no  foreign  article  can  be  introduced  to 
rival  his  except  at  a  cost  for  transportation  of  some  thirty  to 
one  hundred  per  cent,  on  its  value  ;  while  our  Manufactures 
can  be  inundated  by  foreign  competition  at  a  cost  of  some 
two  to  ten  per  cent.  It  is  the  grain-grower,  the  cattle-raiser, 
who  is  protected  by  a  duty  on  Foreign  Manufactures,  quite 
as  much  as  the  spinner  or  shoemaker.  He  who  talks  of 
Manufactures  being  protected  and  nothing  else,  might  just  as 


538  MISCELLANIES. 

sensibly  complain  that  we  fortify  Boston  and  New  York,  and 
not  Pittsburg  and  Cincinnati. 

Again  :  You  see  here  our  answer  to  those  philosophers  who 
modestly  tell  us  that  their  views  are  liberal  and  enlightened, 
while  ours  are  benighted,  selfish,  and  un-Christian.  They  tell 
us  that  the  foreign  factory-laborer  is  anxious  to  exchange 
with  us  the  fruits  of  his  labor,  —  that  he  asks  us  to  give  him 
of  our  surplus  of  grain  for  the  cloth  that  he  is  ready  to  make 
cheaper  than  we  can  now  get  it,  while  we  have  a  superabun 
dance  of  bread.  Now,  putting  for  the  present  out  of  the 
question  the  fact  that,  though  our  Tariff  were  abolished,  his 
could  remain,  —  that  neither  England,  nor  France,  nor  any 
great  manufacturing  country,  would  receive  our  Grain  untaxed 
though  we  offered  so  to  take  their  goods,  —  especially  the  fact 
that  they  never  did  so  take  of  us  while  we  were  freely  taking 
of  them,  —  we  say  to  them,  "  Sirs,  we  are  willing  to  take 
Cloth  of  you  for  Grain  :  but  why  prefer  to  trade  at  a  ruinous 
disadvantage  to  both  ?  Why  should  there  be  half  the  diame 
ter  of  the  earth  between  him  who  makes  coats  and  him  who 
makes  bread,  the  one  for  the  other  ?  We  are  willing  to  give 
you  bread  for  clothes ;  but  we  are  not  willing  to  pay  two 
thirds  of  our  bread  as  the  cost  of  transporting  the  other  third 
to  you,  because  we  sincerely  believe  it  needless  and  greatly  to 
our  disadvantage.  We  are  willing  to  work  for  and  buy  of 
you,  but  not  to  support  the  useless  and  crippling  activity  of 
a  falsely  directed  Commerce  :  not  to  contribute  by  our  sweat 
to  the  luxury  of  your  nobles,  the  power  of  your  kings.  But 
come  to  us,  you  who  are  honest,  peaceable,  and  industrious ; 
bring  hither  your  machinery,  or,  if  that  is  not  yours,  bring 
out  your  sinews ;  and  we  will  aid  you  to  reproduce  the  imple 
ments  of  your  skill.  We  will  give  you  more  bread  for  your 
cloth  here  than  you  can  possibly  earn  for  it  where  you  are,  if 
you  will  but  come  among  us  and  aid  us  to  sustain  the  policy 
that  secures  steady  employment  and  a  fair  reward  to  Home 
Industry.  We  will  no  longer  aid  to  prolong  your  existence 
in  a  state  of  semi-starvation  where  you  are ;  but  we  are  ready 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  539 

•  to  share  with  you  our  Plenty  and  our  Freedom  here."  Such 
is  the  answer  which  the  friends  of  Protection  make  to  -the 
demand  and  the  imputation  :  judge  ye  whether  our  policy  be 
indeed  selfish,  uu-Christian,  and  insane. 

I  proceed  now  to  set  forth  my 

^"Proposition  IV.  THAT  EQUILIBRIUM  BETWEEN  AGRICULTURE, 
MANUFACTURES  AND  COMMERCE,  WHICH  WE  NEED,  CAN  ONLY  BE 
MAINTAINED  BY  MEANS  OF  PROTECTIVE  DUTIES. 

You  will  have  seen  that  the  object  we  seek  is  not  to  make 
our  country  a  Manufacturer  for  other  nations,  but  for  herself, 
—  not  to  make  her  the  baker  and  brewer  and  tailor  of  other 
people,  but  of  her  own  household.  If  I  understand  at  all 
the  first  rudiments  of  National  Economy,  it  is  best  for  each 
and  all  nations  that  each  should  mainly  fabricate  for  itself, 
freely  purchasing  of  others  all  such  staples  as  its  own  soil  or 
climate  proves  ungenial  to.  We  appreciate  quite  as  well  as 
our  opponents  the  impolicy  of  attempting  to  grow  coffee  in 
Greenland  or  glaciers  in  Malabar,  —  to  extract  blood  from  a 
turnip  or  sunbeams  from  cucumbers.  A  vast  deal  of  wit  has 
been  expended  on  our  stupidity  by  our  acuter  adversaries,  but 
it  has  been  quite  thrown  away,  except  as  it  has  excited  the 
hollow  laughter  of  the  ignorant  as  well  as  thoughtless.  All 
this,  however  sharply  pushed,  falls  wide  of  our  true  position. 
To  all  the  fine  words  we  hear  about.  "  the  impossibility  of 
counteracting  the  laws  of  Nature,"  "  Trade  regulating  itself," 
&c.,  &c.,  we  bow  with  due  deference,  and  wait  for  the  sage  to 
resume  his  argument.  What  we  do  affirm  is  this,  that  it  is 
lest  for  every  nation  to  make  at  home  all  those  articles  of  its 
own  consumption  that  can  just  as  well  —  that  is,  with  nearly 
or  quite  as  little  labor  —  be  made  there  as  anywhere  else.  We 
say  it  is  not  wise,  it  is  not  well,  to  send  to  France  for  boots, 
to  Germany  for  hose,  to  England  for  knives  and  forks,  and  so 
on ;  because  the  real  cost  of  them  would  be  less,  —  even 
though  the  nominal  price  should  be  slightly  more,  —  if  we 
made  them  in  our  own  country ;  while  the  facility  of  paying 


. 


540  MISCELLANIES. 

for  them  would  be  much  greater.  We  do  not  object  to  the 
occasional  importation  of  choice  articles  to  operate  as  speci 
mens  and  incentives  to  our  own  artisans  to  improve  the 
quality  and  finish  of  their  workmanship,  —  where  the  home 
competition  does  not  avail  to  bring  the  process  to  its  per 
fection,  as  it  often  will.  In  such  cases,  the  rich  and  luxurious 
will  usually  be  the  buyers  of  these  choice  articles,  and  can 
afford  to  pay  a  good  duty.  There  are  gentlemen  of  extra 
polish  in  our  cities  and  villages  who  think  no  coat  good 
enough  for  them  which  is  not  woven  in  an  English  loom,  — 
no  boot  adequately  transparent  which  has  not  been  fashioned 
by  a  Parisian  master.  I  quarrel  not  with  their  taste  :  I  only 
say  that,  since  the  Government  must  have  Eevenue  and  the 
American  artisan  should  have  Protection,  I  am  glad  it  is  so 
fixed  that  these  gentlemen  shall  contribute  handsomely  to  the 
former,  and  gratify  their  aspirations  with  the  least  possible 
detriment  to  the  latter.  It  does  not  invalidate  the  fact  nor 
the  efficiency  of  Protection  that  foreign  competition  with 
American  workmanship  is  not  entirely  shut  out.  It  is  the 
general  result  which  is  important,  and  not  the  exception. 
Now,  he  who  can  seriously  contend,  as  some  have  seemed  to 
do,  that  Protective  Duties  do  not  aid  and  extend  the  domestic 
production  of  the  articles  so  protected  might  as  well  under 
take  to  argue  the  sun  out  of  the  heavens  at  mid-day.  All 
experience,  all  common  sense,  condemn  him.  Do  we  not 
know  that  our  Manufactures  first  shot  up  under  the  stringent 
Protection  of  the  Embargo  and  War  ?  that  they  withered  and 
crumbled  under  the  comparative  Free  Trade  of  the  few  suc 
ceeding  years  ?  that  they  were  revived  and  extended  by 
the  Tariffs  of  1824  and  '28  ?  Do  we  not  know  that  Germany, 
crippled  by  British  policy,  which  inundated  her  with  goods  yet 
excluded  her  grain  and  timber,  was  driven,  years  since,  to  the 
establishment  of  her  "  Zoll-Verein "  or  Tariff  Union,  —  a 
measure  of  careful  and  stringent  Protection,  under  which 
Manufactures  have  grown  up  and  flourished  through  all  her 
many  States  ?  She  has  adhered  steadily,  firmly,  to  her  Pro 
tective  Policy,  while  we  have  faltered  and  oscillated ;  and 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  541 

what  is  the  result  ?  She  has  created  and  established  her 
Manufactures  ;  and  in  doing  so  has  vastly  increased  her  wealth 
and  augmented  the  reward  of  her  industry.  Her  public  sen 
timent,  as  expressed  through  its  thousand  channels,  is  almost 
unanimous  in  favor  of  the  Protective  Policy  ;  and  now,  when 
England,  finding  at  length  that  her  cupidity  has  overreached 
itself,  —  that  she  cannot  supply  the  Germans  with  clothes  yet 
refuse  to  buy  their  bread,  —  talks  of  relaxing  her  Corn-Laws 
in  order  to  coax  back  her  ancient  and  profitable  customer,  the 
answer  is,  "  No ;  it  is  now  too  late.  We  have  built  up  Home 
Manufactures  in  repelling  your  rapacity,  —  we  cannot  destroy 
them  at  your  caprice.  What  guaranty  have  we  that,  should 
we  accede  to  your  terms,  you  would  not  return  again  to  your 
policy  of  taking  all  and  giving  none  so  soon  as  our  factories 
had  crumbled  into  ruin  ?  Besides,  we  have  found  that  we 
can  make  cheaper  —  really  cheaper  —  than  we  were  able 
to  buy,  —  can  pay  better  wages  to  our  laborers,  and  secure 
a  better  and  steadier  market  for  our  products.  We  are  con 
tent  to  abide  in  the  position  to  which  you  have  driven  us. 
Pass  on  ! " 

But  this  is  not  the  sentiment  of  Germany  alone.  All 
Europe  acts  on  the  principle  of  self-Protection ;  because  all 
Europe  sees  its  benefits.  The  British  journals  complain  that, 
though  they  have  made  a  show  of  relaxation  in  their  own 
Tariff,  and  their  Premier  has  made  a  Free  Trade  speech  in 
Parliament,  the  chaff  has  caught  no  birds  ;  but  six  hostile 
Tariffs  —  all  Protective  in  their  character,  and  all  aimed  at 
the  supremacy  of  British  Manufactures  —  were  enacted  with 
in  the  year  1842.  And  thus,  while  schoolmen  plausibly 
talk  of  the  adoption  and  spread  of  Free  Trade  principles,  and 
their  rapid  advances  to  speedy  ascendency,  the  practical  man 
knows  that  the  truth  is  otherwise,  and  that  many  years  must 
elapse  before  the  great  Colossus  of  Manufacturing  monopoly 
will  find  another  Portugal  to  drain  of  her  life-blood  under 
the  delusive  pretence  of  a  commercial  reciprocity.  And, 
while  Britain  continues  to  pour  forth  her  specious  treatises  on 
Political  Economy,  proving  Protection  a  mistake  and  an  im- 


542 


MISCELLANIES. 


possibility  through  her  Parliamentary  Reports  and  Speeches 
in  praise  of  Free  Trade,  the  shrewd  statesmen  of  other  nations 
humor  the  joke  with  all  possible  gravity,  and  pass  it  on  to 
the  next  neighbor ;  yet  all  the  time  take  care  of  their  own 
interests,  just  as  though  Adam  Smith  had  never  speculated 
nor  Peel  soberly  expatiated  on  the  blessings  of  Free  Trade, 
looking  round  occasionally  with  a  curious  interest  to  see 
whether  anybody  was  really  taken  in  by  it. 

I  have  partly  anticipated,  yet  I  will  state  distinctly,  my 
Proposition  V.   PROTECTION  is  NECESSARY  AND  PROPER  TO 

SUSTAIN  AS  WELL  AS  TO   CREATE  A  BENEFICENT  ADJUSTMENT  OF 

OUR  NATIONAL  INDUSTRY. 

"  Why  can't  our  Manufacturers  go  alone  ? "  petulantly  asks 
a  Free-Trader ;  "  they  have  had  Protection  long  enough.  They 
ought  not  to  need  it  any  more."  To  this  I  answer  that,  if 
Manufactures  were  protected  as  a  matter  of  special  bounty  or 
favor  to  the  Manufacturers,  a  single  day  were  too  long.  I 
would  not  consent  that  they  should  be  sustained  one  day 
longer  than  the  interests  of  the  whole  Country  required.  I 
think  you  have  already  seen  that,  not  for  the  sake  of  Manu 
facturers,  but  for  the  sake  of  all  Productive  Labor,  should 
Protection  be  afforded.  If  I  have  been  intelligible,  you  will 
have  seen  that  the  purpose  and  essence  of  Protection  is  LABOR- 
SAVING,  —  the  making  two  blades  of  grass  grow  instead  of 
one.  This  it  does  by  "  planting  the  Manufacturer  as  nearly 
as  may  be  by  the  side  of  the  Farmer,"  as  Mr.  Jefferson  ex 
pressed  it,  and  thereby  securing  to  the  latter  a  market  for 
which  he  had  looked  to  Europe  in  vain.  Now,  the  market  of 
the  latter  is  certain  as  the  recurrence  of  appetite ;  but  that 
is  not  all.  The  Farmer  and  the  Manufacturer,  being  virtually 
neighbors,  will  interchange  their  productions  directly,  or  with 
but  one  intermediate,  instead  of  sending  them  reciprocally 
across  half  a  continent  and  a  broad  ocean,  through  the  hands 
of  many  holders,  until  the  toll  taken  out  by  one  after  another 
has  exceeded  what  remains  of  the  grist.  "  Dear-bought  and 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  543 

far-fetched  "  is  an  old  maxim,  containing  more  essential  truth 
than  many  a  chapter  by  a  modern  Professor  of  Political  Econ 
omy.  Under  the  Protective  policy,  instead  of  having  one 
thousand  men  making  Cloth  in  one  hemisphere,  and  an  equal 
number  raising  Grain  in  the  other,  with  three  thousand  facti 
tiously  employed  in  transporting  and  interchanging  these 
products,  we  have  over  two  thousand  producers  of  Grain,  and 
as  many  of  Cloth,  leaving  far  too  little  employment  for  one 
thousand  in  making  the  exchanges  between  them.  This  con 
sequence  is  inevitable  :  although  the  production  on  either  side 
is  not  confined  to  the  very  choicest  locations,  the  total  pro 
duct  of  their  labor  is  twice  as  much  as  formerly.  In  other 
words,  there  is  a  double  quantity  of  food,  clothing,  and  all  the 
necessaries  and  comforts  of  life,  to  be  shared  among  the  pro 
ducers  of  wealth,  simply  from  the  diminution  of  the  number 
of  non-producers.  If  all  the  men  now  enrolled  in  Armies  and 
Navies  were  advantageously  employed  in  Productive  Labor, 
there  would  doubtless  be  a  larger  dividend  of  comforts  and 
necessaries  of  life  for  all,  because  more  to  be  divided  than 
now  and  no  greater  number  to  receive  it :  just  so  in  the  case 
before  us.  Every  thousand  persons  employed  in  needless 
Transportation  and  in  factitious  Commerce  are  so  many 
subtracted  from  the  great  body  of  Producers,  from  the  pro 
ceeds  of  whose  labor  all  must  be  subsisted.  The  dividend 
for  each  must,  of  course,  be  governed  by  the  magnitude  of  the 
quotient. 

But,  if  this  be  so  advantageous,  it  is  queried,  why  is  any 
legislation  necessary  ?  Why  would  not  all  voluntarily  see 
and  embrace  it  ?  I  answer,  because  the  apparent  individual 
advantage  is  often  to  be  pursued  by  a  course  directly  adverse 
to  the  general  welfare.  We  know  that  Free  Trade  asserts  the 
contrary  of  this ;  maintaining  that,  if  every  man  pursues  that 
course  most  conducive  to  his  individual  interest,  the  general 
good  will  thereby  be  most  certainly  and  signally  promoted. 
But,  to  say  nothing  of  the  glaring  exceptions  to  this  law  which 
crowd  our  statute-books  with  injunctions  and  penalties,  we 
are  everywhere  met  with  pointed  contradictions  of  its  assump- 


544  MISCELLANIES. 

tion,  which  hallows  and  blesses  the  pursuits  of  the  gambler, 
the  distiller,  arid  the  libertine,  making  the  usurer  a  saint  and 
the  swindler  a  hero.  Adam  Smith  himself  admits  that  there 
are  avocations  which  enrich  the  individual  but  impoverish 
the  community.  So  in  the  case  before  us.  A  B  is  a  farmer 
in  Illinois,  and  has  much  grain  to  sell  or  exchange  for  goods. 
But,  while  it  is  demonstrable  that,  if  all  the  manufactures 
consumed  in  Illinois  were  produced  there,  the  price  of  grain 
must  rise  nearly  to  the  average  of  the  world,  it  is  equally  cer 
tain  that  A  B's  single  act,  in  buying  and  consuming  Ameri 
can  cloth,  will  not  raise  the  price  of  grain  generally,  nor  of 
Ms  grain.  It  will  not  perceptibly  affect  the  price  of  grain  at 
all.  A  solemn  compact  of  the  whole  community  to  use  only 
American  fabrics  would  have  some  effect;  but  this  could 
never  be  established,  or  never  enforced.  A  few  Free-Traders 
standing  out,  selling  their  grain  at  any  advance  which  might 
accrue,  and  buying  "  where  they  could  buy  cheapest,"  would 
induce  one  after  another  to  look  out  for  No.  1,  and  let  the 
public  interests  take  care  of  themselves  :  so  the  whole  com 
pact  would  fall  to  pieces  like  a  rope  of  sand.  Many  a  one 
would  say,  "  Why  should  I  aid  to  keep  up  the  price  of  Pro 
duce  ?  I  am  only  a  consumer  of  it,"  —  not  realizing  or  caring 
for  the  interest  of  the  community,  even  though  it  less  pal 
pably  involved  his  own  ;  and  that  would  be  an  end.  Granted 
that  it  is  desirable  to  encourage  and  prefer  Home  Production 
and  Manufacture,  a  Tariff  is  the  obvious  way,  and  the  only 
way,  in  which  it  can  be  effectively  and  certainly  accomplished. 

But  why  is  a  Tariff  necessary  after  Manufactures  are  once 
established  ?  "  You  say,"  says  a  Free-Trader,  "  that  you  can 
Manufacture  cheaper  if  Protected  than  we  can  buy  abroad : 
then  why  not  do  it  without  Protection,  and  save  all  trouble  ? " 
Let  me  answer  this  cavil :  — 

I  will  suppose  that  the  Manufactures  of  this  Country 
amount  in  value  to  One  Hundred  Millions  of  Dollars  per  an 
num,  and  those  of  Great  Britain  to  Three  Hundred  Millions. 
Let  us  suppose  also  that,  under  an  efficient  Protective  Tariff, 


THE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.        545 

ours  are  produced  five  per  cent,  cheaper  than  those  of  "Eng 
land,  and  that  our  own  markets  are  supplied  entirely  from  the 
Home  Product.  But  at  the  end  of  this  year,  1843,  we, — con 
cluding  that  our  Manufactures  have  been  protected  long 
enough  and  ought  now  to  go  alone,  —  repeal  absolutely  our 
Tariff,  and  commit  our  great  interests  thoroughly  to  the  guid 
ance  of  "  Free  Trade."  Well :  at  this  very  time  the  British 
Manufacturers,  on  making  up  the  account  and  review  of  their 
year's  business,  find  that  they  have  manufactured  goods  cost 
ing  them  Three  Hundred  Millions,  as  aforesaid,  and  have  sold 
to  just  about  that  amount,  leaving  a  residue  or  surplus  on 
hand  of  Fifteen  or  Twenty  Millions'  worth.  These  are  to-be 
sold;  and  their  net  proceeds  will  constitute  the  interest  on 
their  capital  and  the  profit  on  their  year's  business.  But 
where  shall  they  be  sold  ?  If  crowded  on  the  Home  or  their 
established  Foreign  Markets,  they  will  glut  and  depress  those 
.markets,  causing  a  general  decline  of  prices  and  a  heavy  loss, 
hot  merely  on  this  quantity  of  goods,  but  on  the  whole  of 
their  next  year's  business.  They  know  better  than  to  do  any 
such  thing.  Instead  of  it,  they  say,  "  Here  is  the  American 
Market  just  thrown  open  to  us  by  a  repeal  of  their  Tariff:  let 
us  send  thither  our  surplus,  and  sell  it  for  what  it  will  fetch." 
They  ship  it  over  accordingly,  and  in  two  or  three  weeks  it  is 
rattling  off  through  our  auction  stores,  at  prices  first  five,  then 
ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  and  down  to  thirty  per  cent,  below  our 
previous  rates.  Every  jobber  and  dealer  is  tickled  with  the 
idea  of  buying  goods  of  novel  patterns  so  wonderfully  cheap ; 
and  the  sale  proceeds  briskly,  though  at  constantly  declining 
prices,  till  the  whole  stock  is  disposed  of  and  our  market  is 
gorged  to  repletion. 

Now,  the  British  Manufacturers  may  not  have  received  for 
the  whole  Twenty  Millions'  worth  of  Goods  over  Fourteen  or 
Fifteen  Millions ;  but  what  of  it  ?  Whatever  it  may  be  is 
clear  profit  on  their  year's  business  in  cash  or  its  full  equiva 
lent.  All  their  established  markets  are  kept  clear  and  eager ; 
and  they  can  now  go  on  vigorously  and  profitably  with  the 
business  of  the  new  year.  But  more :  they  have  crippled  an 
35 


546  MISCELLANIES. 

active  and  growing  rival ;  they  have  opened  a  new  market, 
which  shall  erelong  be  theirs  also. 

Let  us  now  look  at  our  side  of  the  question :  — 
The  American  Manufacturers  have  also  a  stock  of  goods  on 
hand,  and  they  come  into  our  market  to  dispose  of  them. 
But  they  suddenly  find  that  market  forestalled  and  depressed 
by  rival  fabrics  of  attractive  novelty,  and  selling  in  profusion 
at  prices  which  rapidly  run  down  to  twenty-five  per  cent,  be 
low  cost.  What  are  they  to  do  ?  They  cannot  force  sales  at 
any  price  not  utterly  ruinous ;  there  is  no  demand  at  any 
rate.  They  cannot  retaliate  upon  England  the  mischief  they 
must  suffer,  —  her  Tariff  forbids ;  and  the  other  markets  of 
the  world  are  fully  supplied,  and  will  bear  but  a  limited  pres 
sure.  The  foreign  influx  has  created  a  scarcity  of  money  as 
well  as  a  plethora  of  goods.  Specie  has  largely  been  exported 
in  payment,  which  has  compelled  the  Banks  to  contract  and 
deny  loans.  Still,  their  obligations  must  be  met ;  if  they  can 
not  make  sales,  the  Sheriff  will,  and  must.  It  is  not  merely 
their  surplus,  but  their  whole  product,  which  has  been  depre 
ciated  and  made  unavailable  at  a  blow.  The  end  is  easily 
foreseen  :  our  Manufacturers  become  bankrupt  and  are  broken 
up ;  their  works  are  brought  to  a  dead  stand ;  the  Laborers 
therein,  after  spending  months  in  constrained  idleness,  are 
driven  by  famine  into  the  Western  wilderness,  or  into  less 
productive  and  less  congenial  vocations ;  their  acquired  skill 
and  dexterity,  as  well  as  a  portion  of  their  time,  are  a  dead 
loss  to  themselves  and  the  community ;  and  we  commence  the 
slow  and  toilsome  process  of  rebuilding  and  rearranging  our 
industry  on  the  one-sided  or  Agricultural  basis.  Such  is  the 
process  which  we  have  undergone  twice  already.  How  many 
repetitions  shall  satisfy  us  ? 

Now,  will  any  man  gravely  argue  that  we  have  'made  Five 
or  Six  Millions  by  this  cheap  purchase  of  British  goods,  —  by 
"  buying  where  we  could  buy  cheapest  ? "  Will  he  not  see 
that,  though  the  price  was  low,  the  cost  is  very  great  ?  But 
the  apparent  saving  is  doubly  deceptive ;  for  the  British  man 
ufacturers,  having  utterly  crushed  their  American  rivals  by 


THE  GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.        547 

one  or  two  operations  of  this  kind,  soon  find  here  a  market, 
not  for  a  beggarly  surplus  of  Fifteen  or  Twenty  Millions,  but 
they  have  now  a  demand  for  the  amount  of  our  whole  con 
sumption,  which,  making  allowance  for  our  diminished  ability 
to  pay,  would  probably  still  reach  Fifty  Millions  per  annum. 
This  increased  demand  would  soon  produce  activity  and  buoy 
ancy  in  the  general  market ;  and  now  the  foreign  Manufac 
turers  would  say  in  their  consultations,  "  We  have  sold  some 
millions'  worth  of  goods  to  America  for  less  than  cost,  in  order 
to  obtain  control  of  that  market ;  now  we  have  it,  and  must 
retrieve  our  losses," — and  they  would  retrieve  them,  with  in 
terest.  They  would  have  a  perfect  right  to  do  so.  I  hope  no 
man  has  understood  me  as  implying  any  infringement  of  the 
dictates  of  honesty  on  their  part,  still  less  of  the  laws  of 
trade.  They  have  a  perfect  right  to  sell  goods  in  our  markets 
on  such  terms  as  we  prescribe  and  they  can  afford ;  it  is  we, 
who  set  up  our  own  vital  interests  to  be  bowled  down  by 
their  rivalry,  who  are  alone  to  be  blamed. 

Who  does  not  see  that  this  sending  out  our  great  Industrial 
Interests  unarmed  and  unshielded  to  battle  against  the  mail- 
clad  legions  opposed  to  them  in  the  arena  of  Trade  is  to  in 
sure  their  destruction  ?  It  were  just  as  wise  to  say  that,  be 
cause  our  people  are  brave,  therefore  they  shall  repel  any 
invader  without  fire-arms,  as  to  say  that  the  restrictions  of 
other  nations  ought  not  to  be  opposed  by  us  because  our  arti 
sans  are  skilful  and  our  manufactures  have  made  great  ad 
vances.  The  very  fact  that  our  manufactures  are  greatly 
extended  and  improved  is  the  strong  reason  why  they  should 
not  be  exposed  to  destruction.  If  they  were  of  no  amount  or 
value,  their  loss  would  be  less  disastrous ;  but  now  the  Five 
or  Six  Millions  we  should  make  on  the  cheaper  importation 
of  goods  would  cost  us  One  Hundred  Millions  in  the  destruc 
tion  of  Manufacturing  Property  alone. 

Yet  this  is  but  an  item  of  our  damage.  The  Manufacturing 
classes  feel  the  first  effect  of  the  blow,  but  it  would  paralyze 
every  muscle  of  society.  One  hundred  thousand  artisans  and 
laborers,  discharged  from  our  ruinetl  factories,  after  being 


548  MISCELLANIES. 

some  time  out  of  employment,  at  a  waste  of  millions  of  the 
National  wealth,  are  at  last  driven  by  famine  to  engage  in 
other  avocations,  —  of  course,  with  inferior  skill  and  at  an  in 
ferior  price.  The  farmer,  gardener,  grocer,  lose  them  as  cus 
tomers  to  meet  them  as  rivals.  They  crowd  the  labor-markets 
of  those  branches  of  industry  which  we  are  still  permitted  to 
pursue,  just  at  the  time  when  the  demand  for  their  products 
has  fallen  off,  and  the  price  is  rapidly  declining.  The  result 
is  just  what  we  have  seen  in  a  former  instance :  all  that  any 
man  may  make  by  buying  Foreign  goods  cheap,  he  loses  ten 
times  over  by  the  decline  of  his  own  property,  product,  or 
labor ;  while  to  nine  tenths  of  the  whole  people  the  result  is 
unmixed  calamity.  The  disastrous  consequences  to  a  nation 
of  the  mere  derangement  and  paralysis  of  its  Industry  which 
must  follow  the  breaking  down  of  any  of  its  great  Producing 
Interests  have  never  yet  been  sufficiently  estimated.  Free 
Trade,  indeed,  assures  us  that  every  person  thrown  out  of 
employment  in  one  place  or  capacity  has  only  to  choose 
another ;  but  almost  every  working-man  knows  from  experi 
ence  that  such  is  not  the  fact,  —  that  the  loss  of  a  situation 
through  the  failure  of  his  business  is  oftener  a  sore  calamity. 
I  know  a  worthy  citizen  who  spent  six  years  in  learning  the 
trade  of  a  hatter,  which  he  had  just  perfected  in  1798,  when 
an  immense  importation  of  foreign  hats  utterly  paralyzed  the 
manufacture  in  this  country.  He  travelled  and  sought  for 
months,  but  could  find  no  employment  at  any  price,  and  at 
last  gave  up  the  pursuit,  found  work  in  some  other  capacity, 
and  has  never  made  a  hat  since.  He  lives  yet,  and  now  com 
fortably,  for  he  is  industrious  and  frugal ;  but  the  six  years 
he  gave  to  learn  his  trade  were  utterly  lost  to  him,  —  lost  for 
the  want  of  adequate  and  steady  Protection  to  Home  Industry. 
I  insist  that  the  Government  has  failed  of  discharging  its 
proper  and  rightful  duty  to  that  citizen,  and  to  thousands 
and  tens  of  thousands  who  have  suffered  from  like  causes.  I 
insist  that,  if  the  Government  had  permitted  without  com 
plaint  a  foreign  force  to  land  on  our  shores  and  plunder  that 
man's  house  of  the  savings  of  six  years  of  faithful  industry, 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  549 

the  neglect  of  duty  would  not  have  been  more  flagrant.  And 
I  firmly  believe  that  the  people  of  this  country  are  One 
Thousand  Millions  of  Dollars  poorer  at  this  moment  than 
they  would  have  been  had  their  entire  Productive  Industry 
been  constantly  protected,  on  the  principles  I  have  laid  down, 
from  the  formation  of  the  Government  till  now.  The  steadi 
ness  of  employment  and  of  recompense  thus  secured,  the 
comparative  absence  of  constrained  idleness,  and  the  more 
efficient  application  of  the  labor  actually  performed,  would 
have  vastly  increased  the  product,  —  would  have  improved 
and  beautified  the  whole  face  of  the  country ;  and  the  Moral 
and  Intellectual  advantages  thence  accruing  would  alone  have 
been  inestimable.  A  season  of  suspension  of  labor  in  a  com 
munity  is  usually  one  of  aggravated  dissipation,  drunkenness, 
and  crime. 

But  let  me  more  clearly  illustrate  the  effect  of  foreign  com 
petition  in  raising  prices  to  the  consumer.  To  do  this,  I  will 
take  my  own  calling  for  an  example,  because  I  understand 
that  best ;  though  any  of  you  can  apply  the  principle  to  that 
with  which  he  may  be  better  acquainted.  I  am  a  publisher 
of  newspapers,  and  suppose  I  afford  them  at  a  cheap  rate. 
But  the  ability  to  maintain  that  cheapness  is  based  on  the 
fact  that  I  can  certainly  sell  a  large  edition  daily,  so  that  no 
part  of  that  edition  shall  remain  a  dead  loss  on  my  hands. 
Now,  if  there  were  an  active  and  formidable  Foreign  compe 
tition  in  newspapers,  —  if  the  edition  which  I  printed  during 
the  night  were  frequently  rendered  unsalable  by  the  arrival 
of  a  foreign  ship  freighted  with  newspapers  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  —  the  present  rates  could  not  be  continued :  the  price 
must  be  increased  or  the  quality  would  decline.  I  presume 
this  holds  equally  good  of  the  production  of  calicoes,  glass, 
and  penknives  as  of  newspapers,  though  it  may  be  somewhat 
modified  by  the  nature  of  the  article  to  which  it  is  applied. 
That  it  does  hold  true  of  sheetings,  nails,  and  thousands  of 
articles,  is  abundantly  notorious. 

I  have  not  burdened  you  with  statistics,  —  you  know  they 
are  the  reliance,  the  stronghold,  of  the  cause  of  Protection, 


550  MISCELLANIES. 

and  that  we  can  produce  them  by  acres.  My  aim  has  been 
to  exhibit  not  mere  collections  of  facts,  however  pertinent 
and  forcible,  but  the  laws  on  which  those  facts  are  based,  — 
not  the  immediate  manifestation,  but  the  ever-living  necessity 
from  which  it  springs.  The  contemplation  of  these  laws 
assures  me  that  those  articles  which  are  supplied  to  us  by 
Home  Production  alone  are  relatively  cheaper  than  those 
which  are  rivalled  and  competed  with  from  abroad.  And  I  am 
equally  confident  that  the  shutting  out  of  Foreign  competition 
from  our  markets  for  other  articles  of  general  necessity  and 
liberal  consumption  which  can  be  made  here  with  as  little 
labor  as  anywhere  would  be  followed  by  a  corresponding 
result,  —  a  reduction  of  the  price  to  the  consumer  at  the  same 
time  with  increased  employment  and  reward  to  our  Producing 
Classes. 

But,  Mr.  President,  were  this  only  on  one  side  true, — 
were  it  certain  that  the  price  of  the  Home  product  would  be 
permanently  higher  than  that  of  the  Foreign,  I  should  still 
insist  on  efficient  Protection,  and  for  reasons  I  have  sufficient 
ly  shown.  Grant  that  a  British  cloth  costs  but  $  3  per  yard, 
and  a  corresponding  American  fabric  $  4, 1  still  hold  that  the 
latter  would  be  decidedly  the  cheaper  for  us.  The  Fuel,  Tim 
ber,  Fruits,  Vegetables,  &c.,  which  make  up  so  large  a  share 
of  the  cost  of  the  Home  product,  would  be  rendered  com 
paratively  valueless  by  having  our  workshops  in  Europe.  I 
look  not  so  much  to  the  nominal  price  as  to  the  comparative 
facility  of  payment.  And,  where  cheapness  is  only  to  be  at 
tained  by  a  depression  of  the  wages  of  Labor  to  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  European  standard,  I  prefer  that  it  should  be 
dispensed  with.  One  thing  must  answer  to  another ;  and  I 
hold  that  the  farmers  of  this  country  can  better  afford,  as  a 
matter  of  pecuniary  advantage,  to  pay  a  good  price  for  manu 
factured  articles  than  to  obtain  them  lower  through  the  de 
pression  and  inadequacy  of  the  wages  of  the  artisan  and 
laborer. 

You  will  understand  me,  then,  to  be  utterly  hostile  to  that 
idol  of  Free  Trade  worship,  known  as  Free  or  unlimited  Com- 


THE   GROUNDS  OF  PROTECTION.  551 

petition.  The  sands  of  my  hour  are  running  low,  and  I  can 
not  ask  time  to  examine  this  topic  more  closely ;  yet  I  am 
confident  I  could  show  that  this  Free  Competition  is  a  most 
delusive  and  dangerous  element  of  Political  Economy.  Bear 
with  a  brief  illustration  :  At  this  moment,  common  shirts  are 
made  in  London  at  the  incredibly  low  price  of  three  cents  per 
pair.  Should  we  admit  these  articles  free  of  duty  and  buy 
them  because  they  are  so  cheap  ?  Free  trade  says  Yes ;  but 
I  say  No !  Sound  Policy  as  well  as  Humanity  forbids  it. 
By  admitting  them,  we  simply  reduce  a  large  and  worthy 
and  suffering  class  of  our  population  from  the  ability  they 
now  possess  of  procuring  a  bare  subsistence  by  their  labor  to 
unavoidable  destitution  and  pauperism.  They  must  now 
subsist  upon  the  charity  of  relatives  or  of  the  community,  — 
unless  we  are  ready  to  adopt  the  demoniac  doctrine  of  the 
Free  Trade  philosopher  Malthus,  that  the  dependent  Poor 
ought  to  be  rigorously  starved  to  death.  Then  what  have 
we  gained  by  getting  these  articles  so  exorbitantly  cheap  ? 
or,  rather,  what  have  we  not  lost  ?  The  labor  which  formerly 
produced  them  is  mainly  struck  out  of  existence ;  the  poor 
widows  and  seamstresses  among  us  must  still  have  a  subsist 
ence  ;  and  the  imported  garments  must  be  paid  for :  where 
is  the  profits  of  our  speculation  ? 

But  even  this  is  not  the  worst  feature  of  the  case.  The 
labor  which  we  have  here  thrown  out  of  employment  by  the 
cheap  importation  of  this  article  is  now  ready  to  be  employed 
again  at  any  price,  —  if  not  one  that  will  afford  bread  and 
straw,  then  it  must  accept  one  that  will  produce  potatoes  and 
rubbish ;  and  with  the  product  some  Free-Trader  proceeds  to 
break  down  the  price  and  destroy  the  reward  of  similar  labor 
in  some  other  portion  of  the  earth.  And  thus  each  depres 
sion  of  wages  produces  another,  and  that  a  third,  and  so  on, 
making  the  circuit  of  the  globe,  —  the  aggravated  necessities 
of  the  Poor  acting  and  reacting  upon  each  other,  increas 
ing  the  omnipotence  of  Capital  and  deepening  the  dependence 
of  Labor,  swelling  and  pampering  a  bloated  and  factitious 
Commerce,  grinding  down  and  grinding  down  the  destitute, 


552  MISCELLANIES. 

until  Malthus's  remedy  for  Poverty  shall  become  a  grateful 
specific,  and,  amid  the  splendors  and  luxuries  of  an  all- 
devouring  Commercial  Feudalism,  the  squalid  and  famished 
Millions,  its  dependants  and  victims,  shall  welcome  death  as  a 
deliverer  from  their  sufferings  and  despair. 

I  wish  time  permitted  me  to  give  a  hasty  glance  over  the 
doctrines  and  teachings  of  the  Free  Trade  sophists,  who  esteem 
themselves  the  Political  Economists,  christen  their  own  views 
liberal  and  enlightened,  and  complacently  put  ours  aside  as 
benighted  and  barbarous.  I  should  delight  to  show  you  how 
they  mingle  subtle  fallacy  with  obvious  truth,  —  how  they 
reason  acutely  from  assumed  premises,  which,  being  mis 
taken  or  incomplete,  lead  to  false  and  often  absurd  conclu 
sions,  —  how  they  contradict  and  confound  each  other,  and 
often,  from  Adam  Smith,  their  patriarch,  down  to  McCulloch 
and  Eicardo,  either  make  admissions  which  undermine  their 
whole  fabric,  or  confess  themselves  ignorant  or  in  the  dark  on 
points  the  most  vital  to  a  correct  understanding  of  the  great 
subject  they  profess  to  have  reduced  to  a  Science.  Yet  even 
Adam  Smith  himself  expressly  approves  and  justifies  the 
British  Navigation  Act,  the  most  aggressively  Protective 
measure  ever  enacted,  —  a  measure  which,  not  being  under 
stood  and  seasonably  counteracted  by  other  nations,  changed 
for  centuries  the  destinies  of  the  World,  —  which  silently 
sapped  and  overthrew  the  Commercial  and  Political  great 
ness  of  Holland,  —  which  silenced  the  thunder  of  Van 
Tromp,  and  swept  the  broom  from  his  mast-head.  But  I 
must  not  detain  you  longer.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  judge 
of  this  matter  by  authority,  but  from  facts  which  come 
home  to  your  reason  and  your  daily  experience.  There 
is  not  an  observing  and  strong-minded  mechanic  in  our 
city  who  could  not  set  any  one  of  these  Doctors  of  the  Law 
right  on  essential  points.  I  beg  you  to  consider  how  few 
great  practical  Statesmen  they  have  ever  been  able  to  win  to 
their  standard,  —  I  might  almost  say  none ;  for  Huskisson 
was  but  a  nominal  disciple,  and  expressly  contravened  their 


THE   GROUNDS   OF  PROTECTION.  553 

whole  system  upon  an  attempt  to  apply  it  to  the  Corn  Laws  ; 
and  Calhoun  is  but  a  Free-Trader  by  location,  and  has  never 
yet  answered  his  own  powerful  arguments  in  behalf  of  Pro 
tection.  On  the  other  hand,  we  point  you  to  the  long  array 
of  mighty  names  which  have  illustrated  the  annals  of  States 
manship  in  modern  times,  —  to  Chatham,  William  Pitt,  and 
the  Great  Frederick  of  Prussia  ;  to  the  whole  array  of  memo 
rable  French  Statesmen,  including  Napoleon  the  first  of  them 
all;  to  our  own  WASHINGTON,  HAMILTON,  JEFFERSON,  and 
MADISON  ;  to  our  two  CLINTONS,  TOMPKINS,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  eagle-eyed  and  genial-hearted  LIVING  master-spirit*  of  our 
time.  The  opinions  and  the  arguments  of  all  these  are  on 
record ;  it  is  by  hearkening  to  and  heeding  their  counsels  that 
we  shall  be  prepared  to  walk  in  the  light  of  experience  and 
look  forward  to  a  glorious  National  destiny.  My  friends  3  I 
dare  not  detain  you  longer.  I  commit  to  you  the  cause  of 
the  Nation's  Independence,  of  her  Stability  and  her  Prosperity. 
Guard  it  wisely  and  shield  it  well ;  for  it  involves  your  own 
happiness  and  the  enduring  welfare  of  your  countrymen  ! 

*  Henry  Clay. 


SUNDRY  LECTURING  REMINISCENCES. 


A    DAY'S    RIDE    IN    MAINE. 

AUGUSTA,  MAINE,  March  24,  1849. 

THEEE  days  had  glided  away  rapidly,  and  pleasantly, 
and  riot  very  idly,  among  the  heartiest  of  friends  in 
Bangor,  —  days  bright  as  Italy,  and  pure  as  the  breath  of 
mountains.  The  still  abundant  snow  gradually  melted  into 
the  rivulets  from  the  streets,  the  adjacent  roads,  and  the 
southern  exposures,  in  the  beams  of  the  ascendant  sun ;  but 
the  nights  were  crisp  and  bracing,  and  the  frequent  appear 
ance  of  lighter  sleighs  in  the  streets  bespoke  the  obstinacy 
with  which  Winter's  fleecy  mantle  still  held  its  ground  in  the 
surrounding  country.  The  ice  still  bound  the  Penobscot 
nearly  to  Frankfort,  fourteen  miles  below ;  holding  the  busi 
ness  of  Bangor  and  vicinity  in  its  rugged  embrace,  and  even 
tempting  the  foolhardy  to  travel  with  teams  on  its  now 
treacherous  surface.  But  on  Tuesday  the  clear  azure  of 
several  preceding  days  was  gradually  obscured  by  the  portents 
of  a  coming  storm,  which,  in  the  course  of  the  following  night, 
became  quite  unequivocal,  and  the  pattering  of  rain  on  the 
roof  of  the  Hatch  House  through  the  small  hours  gave  pre 
monition  of  a  moist  ride  to  Waterville  on  the  morrow.  It 
was  not,  however,  till  the  stage-coach  (a  naked,  open  wagon) 
drew  up  at  the  door,  between  six  and  seven  in  the  morning 
(Wednesday,  21st),  that  the  fun  of  it  became  entirely  palpable. 
The  wind  came  strong  from  the  southwest;  the  skies  were 
black ,  the  rain  was  coming  faster  and  faster ;  in  short,  a 
Down-East  Equinoctial  was  upon  us. 


A  DAY'S  RIDE  IN  MAINE.  555 

There  were  six  of  us  passengers,  not  forgetting  the  driver, 
the  best  roadsman  of  all,  whom  no  obstacle  could  daunt  and 
no  botheration  disconcert,  and  who,  protected  in  part  by  his 
rubber  over-all,  looked  the  day's  driving  wind  and  driven 
rain  in  the  face  with  buoyant  philosophy.  The  six  amused 
themselves,  when  they  could  stay  in  the  wagon,  by  turning  a 
part  of  the  water  from  one  to  the  other  by  means  of  four 
umbrellas,  which  would  have  been  of  some  account  had  not 
the  course  of  the  descending  fluid  been  so  greatly  deflected 
from  the  perpendicular  by  the  sweeping  gale,  and  had  there 
not  been  entirely  too  much  of  it.  Even  as  it  was,  the  man 
in  a  red-flannel  shirt  and  glazed  outer  garments,  who 
occupied  the  most  sheltered  position  (leeward  of  the  um 
brellas),  and  seemed  to  have  been  taught  by  some  bird  the 
secret  of  oiling  himself,  contrived  to  maintain  a  comparatively 
dry  look  to  the  end. 

Ten  miles  —  mainly  of  mud  —  had  slid  rapidly  and  merrily 
behind  us,  before  we  encountered  the  first  formidable  snow 
drift  still  occupying  the  road,  over  which  hundreds  of  teams 
had  travelled  securely  for  weeks,  but  into  which,  softened  by 
the  rain,  ours  plunged,  and  in  it  wallowed.  The  next  moment, 
the  leaders  were  down  in  a  tangled  pile ;  the  off  one  rolled 
clear  over  the  nigh  one,  and  was  extricated,  and  got  up  on 
the  near  side.  The  passengers  (the  heaviest  having  been 
thrown  out  rather  suddenly  as  we  came  to  a  halt,  the  wagon 
barely  not  upsetting)  walked  ahead  in  quest  of  help  and 
shelter ;  (perhaps  it  did  n't  pour !)  the  wheel-horses  were  also 
taken  off,  and  four  oxen  obtained  to  draw  the  wagon  out  of 
the  drift,  and  on  to  the  changing-place,  not  far  distant. 

Soon,  all  were  on  board  again,  —  all  as  good  as  before, 
except  that  the  buffaloes  were  wet  on  both  sides,  and  the 
seats  had  rather  a  clammy  feeling  ;  and  we  went  on  merrily 
as  ever  —  meeting  few  decided  obstacles  for  the  next  twelve 
miles  —  to  the  second  changing-place  (North  Dixmont). 

So  far,  we  had  made  good  time,  in  spite  of  wind  and  weather. 
"  And  now,"  said  the  driver,  "  you  may  expect  to  see  some 
bad  going."  The  testimony  was  confirmed  by  others,  but 


556  MISCELLANIES. 

we  did  not  need  their  assurance.  Two  miles  more  were  got 
over  pretty  well,  one  bad  place  being  avoided  by  letting 
down  the  fence,  and  making  a  detour  through  the  field ;  but 
soon  we  were  brought  to  a  dead  halt  again.  The  horses 
were  floundering  in  a  rather  profound  drift ;  the  wagon  was 
"  stuck "  ;  and  no  resource  remained  but  to  beat  up  the 
neighborhood  for  oxen  to  draw  it  on,  while  the  passengers 
went  ahead  in  quest  of  dinner.  The  portliest  of  the  number 
(weighing  good  two  hundred),  who  had  already  twice  taken 
his  own  portrait  by  a  flying-leap  into  a  snow-drift,  and  had 
received  some  severe  contusions  and  a  hard  wrench  in  the 
later  operation,  when  he  narrowly  missed  breaking  a  leg  in 
clearing  the  wagon,  alone  lingered  behind  to  pick  up  some 
bits  of  rides  between  the  worst  snow-drifts,  of  which,  I  think, 
there  were  a  hundred  within  that  next  two  miles.  Yet,  the 
wagon  was,  by  six  oxen,  got  through  or  around  them  some 
how  in  a  little  more  than  two  hours,  —  the  horses  following 
behind,  and  coming  through  with  a  beaten  and  sorry  look.  I 
had  no  idea  it  could  be  done  so  soon  by  an  hour. 

Dinner  (at  Troy)  in  a  hurry,  and  all  aboard  again ;  and  hence 
forward  to  Waterville  we  were  enabled  to  take  the  rain  sitting 
instead  of  walking  for  nearly  all  the  time.  Some  drifts  had  to 
be  walked  over,  of  course  ;  some  snow  had  to  be  shovelled 
away  from  before  the  wheels ;  once  or  twice,  we  had  to  take 
hold  and  help  propel  the  wagon  through  a  drift,  that  need 
not  have  been  so  deep,  so  far  as  any  practical  utility  was  re 
garded  in  its  construction ;  and  twice  more  our  solid  friend 
was  half  thrown,  half  jumped,  into  the  snow-drifts,  as  the 
wagon  keeled  up  on  one  side,  and  seemed  intent  on  going 
over.  The  last  time,  one  arm  went  through  the  drift  into 
about  two  feet  of  coolish  water,  and  he,  already  racked  and 
sore,  was  on  the  point  of  losing  temper.  The  others  were 
more  nimble,  or,  rather,  more  lucky ;  generally  making  a  clean 
jump,  and  alighting  perpendicularly  and  right  end  up.  Finally, 
at  6  P.  M.,  we  drove  rapidly  into  Waterville,  —  fifty  good 
miles  from  Bangor,  —  and  found  warm  rooms  and  various 
comforts  awaiting  us.  Lecturing  that  evening  was  a  little 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  ALLEGHANIES.  557 

up  hill ;  but,  since  the  hearers  did  not  audibly  complain,  I 
sha'  n't.  I  thought  the  village  dancing-school  at  our  hotel 
ought  to  have  broken  up  at  midnight,  considering  that 
some  of  us  were  to  be  called  for  the  Augusta  stage  at  5  A.  M. ; 
but  the  young  folks  seemed  to  enjoy  it  to  a  much  later  hour ; 
and,  if  their  parents  don't  object,  I  probably  should  be  quiet. 
Still,  I  do  say  that  dancing  —  which  ought  to  be  a  healthful, 
innocent,  and  approved  recreation  for  all  —  is  made  unpopular 
with  the  grave  and  devout  by  the  outrageously  late  hours 
to  which  mere  infants  in  years  are  kept  up  by  it,  in  hot  and 
crowded  rooms,  whence  they  are  suddenly  transferred,  when 
utterly  exhausted,  to  the  outdoor  cold  and  their  fireless  homes. 
It  was  not  the  creaking  of  that  fiddle,  the  heavy  pounding  of 
unskilled  feet  on  the  ball-room  floor,  and  the  annoying  rattle 
of  my  door-latch  in  consequence,  till  some  time  this  morning, 
that  put  this  into  my  head ;  but  these  served  to  confirm  me 
in  my  earlier  conviction. 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  ALLEGHANIES. 

WASHINGTON,  Monday,  Decembers,  1851. 

IT  was  10  o'clock  on  Saturday  morning  when  our  steam 
boat  reached  Wheeling,  in  two  days  from  Cincinnati.  That 
was  a  bad  sample  of  Western  steamboat  management.  I  had 
promised  at  home  to  be  here  the  evening  before  the  Session 
opened ;  and  it  was  essential  that  I  should  be  punctual.  I 
ought  to  have  stopped  but  one  day  instead  of  two  at  Cincin 
nati.  I  ought  to  have  travelled  by  land  from  that  city,  and 
so  been  at  Wheeling  six  hours  sooner.  The  boat  ought  to, 
and  might  have  been  there  some  hours  earlier.  But  here  it 
was  10  o'clock,  and  the  stages  to  connect  at  Cumberland  with 
the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  train  next  morning  had  all  been  gone 
some  four  hours.  No  other  train  would  leave  Cumberland 
till  Monday  morning,  —  twenty-four  hours  later.  I  jumped 
ashore  with  my  baggage,  and  sped  to  the  stage-office.  One 


558  MISCELLANIES. 

of  the  Members  of  Congress,  for  self  and  company,  got  there 
at  the  same  moment,  and  spoke  :  "  Can  you  send  us  through 
to  Cumberland  in  time  for  to-morrow's  train  ? "  "  No,  sir,  it 
is  too  late."  The  Congressman  returned  to  report  progress. 
Not  comprehending  the  impossibility  of  driving  193  miles  in 
22  hours,  even  over  a  hilly  road,  with  relays  of  good  horses 
every  ten  or  twelve  miles,  I  hung  on,  and  had  the  resident 
proprietor  summoned.  I  put  the  question  to  him,  varied  as 
follows :  "  Will  money  put  us  through  to  Cumberland  in 
time  for  to-morrow's  cars  ? "  "  Yes,  money  will,  —  money 
enough."  "  How  much  ? "  "  If  five  of  you  will  pay  for  a  full 
stage  (nine  seats)  and  twenty  dollars  extra,  you  shall  be 
taken  through."  I  hurried  down  to  the  boat  in  search  of  the 
Congressmen,  but  looked  it  over  without  finding  them.  At 
last,  I  discovered  one  of  the  Senators :  "  Mr.  R,  call  your 
friends  ;  we  can  be  taken  to  Cumberland  in  season,  for  about 
twenty  dollars  each." 

He  would  not  listen,  —  said  it  could  not  be  done,  —  he  had 
tried  it  once,  and  failed.  (I  suspect  he  did  not  try  the  extra 
price,  "  No  cure,  no  pay.")  He  turned  away,  and  the  boat 
put  off.  I  went  back  to  the  stage-office  alone.  "  Mr.  S.,  what 
is  your  price  for  taking  me  through  to  Cumberland  in  sea 
son  ? "  "  Regular  fare  to  Baltimore,  eleven  dollars ;  forty 
dollars  extra  for  gaining  time, — in  all,  $  51."  I  put  down 
the  change,  and  he  got  up  his  horses.  In  ten  minutes  we 
were  on  the  road.  The  gentleman  who  drove  stands  at  the 
head  of  his  profession.  He  understood,  by  experience  or  in 
stinct,  that  the  perfection  of  driving  is  not  to  seem  or  need  to 
drive  at  all.  By  a  slight  and  easy  motion  of  his  wrist,  he 
thridded  his  way  through  a  drove  of  cattle,  around  a  carriage, 
and  among  the  piles  of  broken  or  to  be  broken  stone  every 
where  encumbering  the  road,  now  on  one  side,  then  on  the 
other,  and  again  in  the  middle  or  on  both.  He  knew  just 
when  to  hold  in,  and  when  to  let  out,  but  seemed  to  do  more 
of  the  former  than  of  the  latter ;  hardly  using  a  persuasion 
to  speed  in  the  course  of  the  ride.  He  drove  at  no  time  over 
eleven,  nor  under  ten,  miles  per  hour.  The  day  was  bright, 


A  RIDE  ACROSS  THE  ALLEGHANIES.  559 

though  cool ;  the  air  crisp  and  bracing.  We  had  a  light  car 
riage,  with  fresh  horses  every  ten  to  twelve  miles.  Whatever 
craft  we  espied  ahead  was  sure  to  be  hull  down  astern  in  the 
course  of  five  minutes.  We  drove  sixty-two  miles  in  a  trifle 
short  of  six  hours,  but  lost  nearly  an  hour  more  in  making 
changes,  as  we  were  not  expected  at  the  stations.  It  was 
10.40  (Baltimore  time)  when  we  started.  At  half  past  5  we 
overhauled  the  Mail  Stages  half-way  between  Brownsville 
and  Uniontown,  Pa.,  62  miles  from  Wheeling.  I  threw  my 
baggage  upon  one,  and  followed  it ;  bidding  a  hearty  farewell 
to  my  driver,  who  turned  back  to  Brownsville  for  the  night, 
on  his  way  to  Wheeling.  We  were  in  Uniontown  to  tea 
15  minutes  past  6 ;  left  at  7  ;  and  drove  straight  ahead  over 
the  Alleghanies,  only  stopping  to  change  or  water,  and  making 
the  five  changes  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,  all  told.  The 
night  was  cold,  and  snow  contrived  to  fall  from  about  mid 
night,  though  less  profusely  than  on  the  plains  this  side.  I 
think  the  cold  prevented.  But  each  stage  was  just  full  of 
passengers,  and  little  discomfort  was  felt  from  the  cold.  I 
don't  consider  riding  through  a  cold  night  without  a  halt  the 
summit  of  human  felicity ;  but  it  does  very  well,  if  you  don't 
waste  your  time  and  strength  in  trying  to  go  to  sleep.  That 
is  absurd.  We  drove  into  Cumberland  at  7  A.  M.  ;  had  break 
fast,  and  abundant  time  for  outward  renovation,  before  the 
cars  started  at  half  past  8.  The  storm  continued  through  the 
day,  changing  from  snow  to  sleety  hail  and  almost  rain 
as  we  neared  the  coast.  We  met  with  a  bad  accident  at  4  P.  M., 
—  when  45  miles  from  Baltimore,  our  snow-scraper  catching 
against  some  part  of  the  track,  so  that  it  was  broken  and 
turned  under  the  forward  engine,  which  was  thrown  off  the 
track,  and  the  one  behind  it  partly  followed  the  example. 
Both  were  disabled  and  considerably  injured.  Happily,  we 
had  still  a  third  engine,  pushing  behind,  which  was  detached 
and  run  back  to  Frederick  for  help  to  clear  away  the  wreck 
and  mend  the  track,  which  had  been  torn  up  by  our  disaster. 
After  four  hours'  delay,  we  got  under  headway  again,  but 
came  on  very  slowly,  and  only  made  the  Kelay  House  at 


560  MISCELLANIES. 

11  P.  M.,  —  too  late  for  any  chance  to  reach  this  city  till 
;  morning.  But  we  were  in  here  before  9  A.  M.,  three  hours 
before  Congress  convened,  and  in  ample  season  to  look  into 
whatever  was  going  on.  Governor  Brown  of  Mississippi, 
whom  I  left  on  the  boat  at  Wheeling,  incredulous  as  to  the 
practicability  of  getting  through  to  Cumberland  in  season, 
was  of  course  not  here  to  vote  for  his  friend,  Howell  Cobb, 
when  even  one  vote  was  bo  slight  consideration.  I  presume 
he  is  in,  ma  Pittsburg,  to-night. 


A  NIGHT-RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PRAIRIES. 

SOUTH  BEND,  INDIANA,  October  18,  1853. 

I  LEFT  New  York  on  Monday  morning  of  last  week,  reached 
Lafayette,  via  Erie  Kailroad,  Buffalo  City,  the  steamboat 
Queen  of  the  West  to  Cleveland,  and  the  railroad  thence  by 
Gallon,  Bellefontaine,  and  Indianapolis,  at  noon  on  Wednes 
day.  Having  given  the  residue  of  that  day  and  all  the  next 
to  the  State  Agricultural  Fair,  and  fulfilled  the  engagement 
that  drew  me  to  Indiana,  I  returned  to  Indianapolis  on 
Friday  morning,  spoke  there  in  the  evening,  and  started  back 
via  Lafayette,  on  Saturday  morning,  to  fulfil  a  promise  to 
speak  on  the  evening  of  that  day  at  Laporte,  where  I  should 
reach  the  Northern  Indiana  and  Southern  Michigan  Eoad, 
and  set  my  face  homeward.  How  we  were  delayed  on  our 
way  back  to  Lafayette,  and  how,  on  reaching  that  smart 
young  village,  I  was  misled,  by  the  kind  guidance  of  a  zealous 
friend,  into  waiting  for  the  Northern  cars  at  a  place  half  a 
mile  distant  from  that  where  they  then  actually  were ;  how 
I  at  last  broke  over  all  assurances  that  they  always  started 
from  this  point,  and  must  come  here  before  leaving,  and  made 
for  their  out-of-the-way  station  just  in  time  to  be  too  late,  — 
it  were  a  fruitless  vexation  to  recall.  Suffice  it  that  at  noon 
I  stood  on  the  platform  where  I  might  and  should  have  been 
twenty  minutes  before,  just  in  time  to  see  the  line  of  smoke 


A  NIGHT-RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PRAIRIES.  561 

hovering  over  the  rapidly  receding  train,  to  realize  that  any 
seasonable  fulfilment  of  my  promise  to  Laporte  was  now 
impossible,  and  to  learn  that  the  next  regular  train  would 
leave  on  Monday,  and  take  me  to  Laporte  just  two  days  after 
I  should  have  been  there.  I  wandered  back  to  the  village, 
in  no  enviable  mood,  to  telegraph  my  mishap  to  Laporte,  and 
had  the  privilege  of  cooling  my  heels  for  an  hour  and  a 
quarter  on  the  steps  of  the  office,  while  the  operators  were 
leisurely  discussing  and  digesting  their  dinner.  They  came 
at  last,  just  too  late  to  enable  me  to  stop  the  sending  of  a 
carriage  eleven  miles  from  Laporte  to  meet  me  at  Westville  ; 
and  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  out-of-town  depot,  to  see  what 
chance  remained  or  might  turn  up. 

As  quite  a  number  had  been  deceived  and  left  as  I  was, 
owing  to  the  recent  change  in  railroad  arrangements,  the 
agent  said  he  would  send  out  an  extra  train  that  afternoon,  if 
he  could  procure  an  engine ;  but  none  came  in  that  could  be 
spared,  and  at  four  o'clock  our  extra  train  was  adjourned  to 
next  morning  at  ten ;  and  I  returned  to  the  telegraph  office 
to  apprise  Laporte  that  I  would  speak  there  for  Temperance 
the  next  (Sunday)  evening,  and  then  walked  over  to  the 
Bramble  House,  and  laid  in  a  stock  of  sleep  for  future  con 


tingencies. 


I  was  at  the  depot  in  ample  season  next  morning  ;  but  the 
train  that  was  to  start  at  ten  did  not  actually  leave  till  noon, 
and  then  with  a  body  entirely  disproportioned  to  its  head. 
Five  cars  closely  packed  with  live  hogs,  five  ditto  with  wheat, 
two  ditto  with  lumber,  three  or  four  with  live  stock  and 
notions  returning  from  the  Fair,  and  two  or  three  cattle-cars 
containing  passengers,  formed  entirely  too  heavy  a  load  for 
our  asthmatic  engine,  which  had  obviously  seen  its  best  days 
in  the  service  of  other  roads,  before  that  from  New  Albany 
to  Michigan  City  was  constructed.  Still,  we  went  ahead; 
crossed  the  Wabash ;  passed  the  Tippecanoe  Battle-ground ; 
ran  our  engine  partly  off  the  track,  and  got  it  back  again ; 
and  by  three  o'clock  had  reached  Brookston,  a  station  four 
teen  miles  from  Lafayette,  with  a  fair  prospect  of  travers- 
36 


562  MISCELLANIES. 

ing  our  whole,  ninety-odd  miles  by  the  dawn  of  Monday 
morning. 

But  here  we  came  to  a  long  halt.  The  engine  was  in 
want  of  both  wood  and  water ;  and,  though  woods  and  sloughs 
were  in  sight  in  various  directions,  neither  were  accessible. 
So  our  engine  was  detached,  and  ran  ahead  some  five  miles 
for  water,  and  still  farther  for  wood,  and  a  weary  two  hours 
were  tediously  whiled  away  before  its  return. 

It  came  at  last,  hitched  on,  and  started  us  ;  but,  before  it 
had  moved  us  another  half-mile,  the  discharge-cock  of  the 
boiler  flew  out,  letting  off  all  our  water  and  steam,  and  ren 
dering  us  hopelessly  immovable  for  hours  to  come. 

We  got  out  to  take  an  observation.  The  village  of  Brook- 
ston  consists  of  three  houses  and  no  barn,  with  a  well 
(almost  dry)  for  the  use  of  the  railroad ;  but  neither  of  the 
houses  is  a  tavern,  nor  more  than  one-story  high ;  and  their 
aggregate  of  accommodation  fell  far  short  of  the  needs  of  the 
hungry  crowd  so  unexpectedly  thrown  upon  their  hospitality. 
Two  or  three  more  houses  of  like  or  inferior  calibre  were 
gleaming  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  at  various  distances 
on  the  prairies ;  but  these  were  already  surfeited  with  rail 
road  hands  as  boarders,  not  to  speak  of  sick  women  or  chil 
dren  in  nearly  every  one ;  for  disease  has  been  very  rife  this 
season  on  these  prairies.  Still,  a  friend  found  an  old  ac 
quaintance  in  one  of  the  nearest  residents,  whose  sick  wife 
spread  a  generous  table  forthwith  for  as  many  of  us  as  could 
sit  around  it ;  and,  having  supped,  we  turned  out  on  the 
prairie  to  make  room  for  a  family  party,  including  two  wo 
men,  one  of  them  quite  sick,  —  as  she  had  been  all  the  way  up, 
and  at  Lafayette  for  some  days  before.  Our  conductor  had 
started  a  hand-car  back  to  Lafayette  in  quest  of  the  only 
engine  there,  —  a  weak,  old  one,  needing  some  repairs  before 
it  could  be  used.  It  was  calculated  that  this  engine  would 
be  up  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  would  then  drag  us  back  to 
Lafayette  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  night,  and  take  a  fair 
start  in  the  morning.  This  I,  for  one,  had  resolved  not  to 
submit  to,  though  the  only  alternative  were  a  camp-fire  on 
the  prairie. 


A  NIGHT-RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PRAIRIES.  563 

But  now  a  bright  thought  struck  the  engineer,  for  which 
I  think  he  was  indebted  to  my  good  angel.  He  recollected 
that  a  good  engine  was  stationed  at  a  point  named  Culver- 
town,  forty-three  miles  ahead;  and  he  decided  to  take  a 
hand-car  and  make  for  this,  so  that  our  bow  should  have  two 
strings  to  it.  The  hand-car  was  dragged  over  the  rough 
prairie  around  our  long  train,  and  launched,  —  I  follow 
ing  with  my  carpet-bags,  on  the  lookout  for  chances.  In  a 
trice,  it  was  duly  manned ;  I  had  coaxed  my  way  to  a  seat 
upon  it;  and  we  were  off. 

The  full  moon  rose  bright  over  the  eastern  woods  as,  with 
the  north  star  straight  ahead,  we  bade  adieu  to  the  embryo 
City  of  Brookston. 

We  were  seven  of  us  on  the  hand-car ;  four  propelling  by 
twos,  as  if  turning  a  heavy,  two-handed  grindstone ;  but  we 
let  off  one  passenger  after  traversing  a  few  miles.  The  engi 
neer  and  I  made  up  the  party ;  and  the  car  —  about  equal  in 
size  to  a  wheelbarrow  and  a  half — just  managed  to  hold  us 
and  give  the  propellers  working-room.  To  economize  space, 
I  sat  a  good  part  of  the  time  facing  backward,  with  my  feet 
hanging  over  the  rear  of  the  car,  knocking  here  and  there  on 
a  tie  or  bridge-timber,  and  often  tickled  through  my  boots  by 
the  coarse,  rank  weeds  growing  up  at  intervals  between  the 
ties,  and  recently  stiffened  by  the  hard  October  frosts.  As  a 
constant  effort  to  hold  on  was  required,  the  position  was  not 
favorable  to  slumber,  however  it  might  be  to  cogitation.  Our 
Irish  steam  was  evolved  from  Yankee  muscles,  and  proved  of 
capital  quality.  We  made  our  first  five  miles,  heavily  laden 
as  we  were,  in  twenty-five  minutes  ;  our  first  ten  miles  in  an 
hour ;  but  our  propellers  grew  gradually  weary ;  we  stopped 
twice  or  thrice  for  oil,  water,  and  perhaps  one  other  liquid ; 
so  that  we  were  five  hours  in  making  the  forty-three  miles, 
or  from  7  P.  M.  till  midnight.  I  only  tried  my  hand  at  pro 
pelling  for  a  short  mile,  and  that  experience  sufficed  to  con 
vince  me  that,  however  it  may  be  as  a  business,  this  spe 
cies  of  exercise  cannot  be  conscientiously  commended  as  an 
amusement.  The  night  was  chilly,  though  clear ;  the  dead- 


564  MISCELLANIES. 

ahead  breeze,  though  light,  was  keen,  and  I,  by  no  means 
dressed  for  such  an  airy  ride,  felt  it  most  sensibly. 

Our  course  lay  across  the  east  end  of  Grand  Prairie,  which 
stretches  westward  from  the  bank  of  the  Wabash  across  Indi 
ana  and  Illinois,  to  the  Mississippi,  and  thence  through  Iowa 
and  Nebraska,  perhaps  to  Council  Bluffs  and  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  ground  we  traversed  was  nearly  level,  often 
marshy,  and  for  the  most  part  clear  of  wood ;  but  we  fre 
quently  crossed  belts  or  spurs,  on  higher,  dryer  soil,  of  the 
great  forest  on  our  right,  with  occasional  clumps  of  sturdy 
oaks>  —  islets  of  timber  in  the  prairie  sea,  —  to  which  the 
belts  aforesaid  served  as  promontories.  Four  prairie-fires,  — 
two  on  either  hand,  —  at  intervals  of  miles,  burned  brightly 
but  lazily ;  for  the  wind  was  not  strong  enough,  nor  the  vege 
tation  dry  and  crisp  enough,  to  impel  a  rapid,  roaring,  sweep 
ing  fire. 

Now  a  flock  of  geese  flew  by,  murmuring  subduedly ;  then 
a  great  heron  rose  before  us,  and  flew  heavily  over  the 
marshes ;  an  opossum  was  frightened  by  our  noisy  approach, 
and  fled  eagerly  into  the  prairie,  under  an  evident  mistake  as 
to  the  nature  of  our  business ;  and  again  an  odorous  skunk, 
keeping  his  carcass  unseen,  gave  pungent  evidence  of  his 
close  proximity.  Finally,  a  little  after  midnight,  chilled  and 
weary,  we  reached  the  one-horse  village  -of  Culvertown,  and 
found  the  engine  missing,  —  run  down  to  Michigan  City  for 
repairs,  —  so  that  my  companions  had  had  their  rugged  ride 
for  nothing.  The  landlady  of  the  only  house  in  sight  got  up 
and  made  a  fire;  the  engineer  decided  to  await  the  return 
of  the  fugitive  engine ;  and  I  began  to  drum  up  the  means  of 
farther  conveyance;  for  I  was  still  twenty-odd  miles  from 
any  public  conveyance  that  would  speed  me  on  my  way. 
Horses,  I  learned,  were  not  easily  to  be  had ;  and,  even  if  I 
had  a  team,  the  roads  across  the  great  marsh  and  small  river 
just  north  of  us  were  rather  shy.  But  the  engineer  lent  me 
the  hand-car  which  had  already  done  such  good  service,  and 
I  evoked  from  slumber  two  Dutchmen,  who  were  persuaded 
to  act  as  my  crew ;  and  by  1  A.  M.  I  was  again  under  head- 


A  NIGHT-RIDE  ACROSS  THE  PRAIRIES.  565 

way  northward ;  the  air  keener,  and  I  more  vulnerable  to  its 
assaults  in  iny  loneliness,  than  when  six  of  us  were  so  closely 
huddled  together.  But  my  Dutchmen  propelled  with  a  will, 
and  my  good  craft  sped  briskly  onward. 

From  Culvertown,  a  prairie-marsh  stretches  thirteen  miles 
northward,  and  I  think  no  building,  and  hardly  a  cultivated 
acre,  were  visible  through  all  that  distance.  The  dense  fog, 
beaten  down  by  the  cool  air,  lay  low  on  this  marsh,  and  was 
heavily  charged  with  prairie-smoke  for  a  part  of  the  way. 
Three  miles  from  C.,  we  crossed,  on  a  pokerish  bridge  of  naked 
timbers,  the  slough-like  bed  wherein  the  Kankakee  oozes  and 
creeps  sluggishly  westward  to  join  the  Fox  and  form  the 
Illinois.  They  say  the  Kankakee  has  a  rapid  current,  and 
dry,  inviting  banks,  from  the  point  where  it  crosses  the  Illinois 
line,  which  might  tempt  one  to  regret  that  it  did  not  cross 
that  line  forty  miles  higher  up.  Happily,  the  keen  air  had 
done  for  the  mosquitoes,  so  that  we  had  no  more  music  than 
I  had  fairly  bargained  for ;  but  Bunyan  might  have  improved 
his  description  of  the  Slough  of  Despond  had  he  been  favored 
with  a  vision  of  the  Kankakee  marshes.  At  4  A.M.,  my  good 
craft  brought  up  at  Westville,  and  I  was  gratified  by  the  sight 
of  half  a  dozen  houses  at  once  for  the  first  time  since  leaving 
Lafayette,  seventy-eight  miles  below.  I  doubt  that  all  the 
houses  visible  on  that  seventy-eight  miles  would  amount  to  a 
hundred ;  and  I  am  sure  they  would  be  dear  at  two  hundred 
dollars  each,  on  the  average.  Yet  there  are  much  fine  timber 
and  excellent  land  on  that  route,  and  he  who  passes  over  the 
railroad  ten  years  hence  will  see  a  very  different  state  of 
things.  If  efficient  plans  of  drainage  can  but  be  devised  and 
executed,  that  region  will  yet  be  one  of  the  most  productive 
in  the  world.  Still,  the  financiering  which  conjured  up  the 
means  of  building  that  New  Albany  and  Michigan  City  Kail- 
road  is  worthy  of  a  brazen  monument.  At  Westville,  I  was 
but  eleven  miles  from  Laporte,  and  four  from  the  crossing  of 
the  great  Northern  Indiana  Koad  from  Chicago :  so,  having 
accomplished  sixty-four  miles  by  hand-car  since  dark,  and 
arrived  within  striking  distance  of  a  civilized  railroad,  I  went 


566  MISCELLANIES. 

to  bed  till  breakfast-time  ;  took  passage  by  wagon  at  7 ;  was 
in  Laporte  by  9 ;  spoke  for  Temperance  at  1 ;  took  the  rail 
road  at  3 ;  and  came  here  to  fulfil  my  engagement  to  lecture 
last  evening ;  and  thus,  having  reopened  my  communications, 
I  close  this  hurried  account  of  A  Night  Ride  Across  the 
Prairies. 


A  WINTER  FLOOD    IN    ILLINOIS. 

GALESBURG,  ILLINOIS,  February  7,  1857. 

I  LEFT  the  train  from  Chicago  on  this  (the  Burlington)  Eoad 
at  7  A.M.  yesterday  at  "  Oquawka  Junction,"  the  last  station 
this  side  of  the  Mississippi,  and '  took  the  stage  in  due  season 
for  Oquawka  (5  J  miles  north),  on  the  bank  of  the  great  river, 
and  the  shire  town  of  Henderson  County.  It  had  been  rain 
ing  and  thawing  for  a  day  or  so  hereabout ;  and,  though 
there  was  little  snow  to  melt,  the  hard-frozen  earth  threw  off 
the  water  like  a  glass  roof.  The  creeks  were  all  over  their 
banks,  wandering  at  their  own  sweet  will,  —  "  South  Hender 
son,"  "  Main  Henderson,"  and  "  North  Henderson "  vying 
with  each  other  in  encroachments  on  the  people's  highway, 
and  all  the  "  sloughs  "  and  depressions  transformed  into  tem 
porary  lakes ;  but  our  stage  crossed  them  all  safely,  —  there 
being  a  solid  frost  bottom  to  each,  —  and  reached  Oquawka 
in  due  season. 

But  the  rain  poured  harder  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  the 
evening  was  as  inclement  and  forbidding  as  could  well  be 
imagined.  I  said  my  say  to  a  rather  thin  house,  —  yet  a 
large  gathering  for  such  a  night,  —  and  then  looked  about  for 
the  means  of  making  good  my  promise  to  be  in  Galesburg 
(only  33  miles  distant,  27  of  it  railroad)  this  evening. 

The  prospect  was  not  cheering.  The  rain  was  pouring,  the 
wind  howling,  and  the  creeks  rising.  Already,  the  stage  had 
been  stopped  by  the  creeks  on  its  evening  trip  to  the  cars ; 
and  it  was  plain  that  to  wait  till  morning  was  to  prolong  my 
stay  indefinitely.  Now,  Oquawka  is  a  nice  place,  as  its  melli- 


A    WINTER  FLOOD  IN  ILLINOIS.  567 

fluous  name  would  indicate,  and  has  many  excellent  people 
whose  acquaintance  I  should  have  been  glad  to  improve ; 
but  the  telegraph  is  not  among  its  advantages,  and  I  could 
not  let  the  people  of  Galesburg,  and  other  towns  to  which  I 
was  due,  know  what  had  become  of  me,  nor  why  I  disap 
pointed  them ;  so  I  resolved  to  dig  out,  if  possible ;  and,  as 
the  creeks  were  still  rising  rapidly,  the  only  course  was  to 
start  at  once.  A  council  of  wise  friends  decided  that  I  could 
not  reach  Oquawka  Junction,  if  I  were  ever  so  bent  upon  it, 
and  should  find  no  train  there  if  I  did ;  and  that  the  only 
hopeful  course  was  to  take  the  highest  or  eastern  road,  and 
steer  for  Monmouth  (half-way  to  Galesburg)  at  once.  By 
taking  this  course,  I  should  turn  several  vicious  creeks,  leav 
ing  only  "  Main  Henderson  "  really  formidable.  So  a  buggy 
and  capital  span  were  procured  from  a  livery-stable,  with 
their  shrewd  and  capable  owner  as  pilot,  and,  at  a  little  past 
10  o'clock,  we  put  out  into  the  storm,  resolved  to  see  Mon- 
inouth  (18  miles,  by  our  route)  before  daylight,  if  possible. 
Though  the  clouds  were  thick,  the  wind  blew,  and  the  rain 
poured,  there  was  a  good  moon  above  all,  which,  though  ob 
scured,  gave  about  all  the  light  that  was  really  necessary. 

Though  Oquawka  is  built  on  the  sand,  we  crossed  wide 
stretches  of  water  before  we  had  cleared  it ;  and,  of  the  miles 
of  high  sand-ridge  that  intervened  between  it  and  "Main 
Henderson,"  I  judge  that  fully  a  fourth  lay  under  water. 
Still,  hoofs  and  wheels  brought  up  on  frost ;  and  it  was  not 
till  we  descended  into  the  bottom  of  "  Main  Henderson  "  that 
matters  began  to  wear  a  serious  aspect. 

Forty  rods  west  of  the  ordinary  channel  of  the  creek,  we 
plunged  into  the  water,  which  grew  gradually  deeper,  until 
our  boots  and  baggage  had  drunk  of  it  to  satiety.  Just  at 
this  point,  the  driver's  quick  and  wary  eye  caught  sight  of 
some  plank  or  timber  which  had  formed  part  of  a  bridge  over 
one  of  the  ordinary  side-cuts  of  the  stream  when  over  its 
bank,  —  said  plank  or  timber-head  being  even  with  the  sur 
face  of  the  flood,  with  such  an  angle  of  inclination  as  indi 
cated  that  the  bridge  was  a  wreck,  and  had  probably  in  good 


568  MISCELLANIES. 

part  floated  off.  He  reined  up  his  horses  before  reaching  it, 
and  turned  them  face  about,  and  in  a  minute  we  were  half 
way  back, — not  to  dry,  but  to  unflooded  land.  Here  we  took 
sweet  counsel  together,  and  I  offered  to  return  to  Oquawka  if 
he  considered  it  foolhardy  to  persist  in  going  forward.  He 
studied  a  moment,  and  concluded  to  make  another  attempt ; 
which  he  did,  and  went  through  above  the  treacherous  bridge, 
though  I  don't  believe  any  man  could  have  done  it  two  hours 
later.  We  were  soon  in  shallower  water,  found  the  main 
bridge  all  right,  and  no  deep  water  east  of  it,  though  "  Smith's 
Creek "  (a  tributary  which  enters  "  Main  Henderson "  just 
below  the  bridge)  set  back  upon  and  covered  our  road  with  a 
swift  current  for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  driver  was 
familiar  with  the  road,  and  thought  it  had  never  been  so 
covered  before.  Soon,  however,  we  ascended  a  long,  badly 
gullied  hill  of  the  very  worst  clay,  and  breathed  more  freely 
on  the  high,  level  prairie,  covered  in  good  part  with  water, 
and  not  pretty  wheeling,  but  never  threatening  to  float  us 
bodily  off,  like  that  raving  "  Main  Henderson." 

Having  reached  "  Stririgtown,"  five  or  six  miles  on  our  way, 
the  driver  called  up  a  wayside  friend,  and  borrowed  dry  socks, 
while  I  made  researches  in  my  baggage  for  a  like  creature- 
comfort,  but  with  very  unsatisfactory  results.  "  Main  Hen 
derson  "  had  been  there  before  me,  and  had  made  everything 
fit  for  his  wear,  and  unfit  for  mine.  I  closed  valise  and 
leathern  bag  with  a  shiver,  and  we  resumed  our  weary  way. 

I  do  like  the  prairies,  though  their  admirers  won't  admit  it ; 
and  I  cheerfully  certify  that  the  best  going  we  found  was  on 
the  virgin  turf.  True,  the  "  sloughs  "  were  many  and  wide  ; 
yet,  there  was  frost  and  ice  at  the  bottom  of  them,  which 
seldom  cut  through;  but,  whenever  it  did,  it  gave  horses, 
buggy,  and  riders,  a  racking.  My  pilot  picked  our  way  with 
great  judgment,  and  we  were  nevermore  stopped,  and  hardly 
checked,  until  we  came  out  on  the  main  road  westward  from 
Monmouth,  three  miles  distant. 

That  three  miles  of  dense  prairie  was  the  heaviest  travelling 
I  ever  underwent ;  and,  if  our  jaded  horses  traversed  it  in  an 


A    WINTER  FLOOD  IN  ILLINOIS.  569 

hour  and  a  quarter,  they  did  passing  well.  On  the  naked 
prairie,  we  felt  little  anxiety ;  for,  if  the  slough  seemed  too 
deep  straight  ahead,  we  could  sheer  right  or  left  ad  libitum, 
only  taking  care  to  keep  some  landmark  in  view,  if  possible. 
But  roads  imply  bridges  over  the  water-courses ;  and  these 
bridges  were  far  more  perilous  than  the  water-courses  them 
selves. 

Still  the  wind  blew,  still  the  rain  fell,  in  spite  of  our  re 
peated  predictions  that  it  would  soon  hold  up ;  and  still  our 
horses  plodded  slowly  onward,  until  those  three  miles  seemed 
to  me  interminable.  Our  main  business  was  to  watch  the 
bridges  just  ahead,  and  see  that  they  had  not  been  washed 
out;  and  they  generally  seemed  to  stand  remarkably  well.  At 
last,  Monmouth  was  in  sight;  the  last  bridge  was  passed;  no, 
not  the  last,  for  our  horses  were  in  a  deep  gully  this  instant. 
A  second  more,  and  they  sprang  out,  and  jerked  the  buggy 
in  with  a  crash  that  is  still  audible.  The  nigh  fore-wheel 
snapped  its  tire,  and  went  down,  an  armful  of  oven- wood  ;  the 
tongue  split,  but  held  on,  and  the  driver  was  pitched  across 
my  knees  head  downward  into  the  deep  mortar-bed  termed 
the  road.  I  went  forward  on  my  face,  but  clung  to  the  wreck, 
with  my  feet  entangled  in  apron  and  blankets ;  and,  as  the 
horses  started  to  run,  the  look  ahead  for  an  instant  was  not 
flattering. 

Only  for  an  instant,  however.  The  idea  of  running  with 
that  wreck  through  such  mud,  after  a  heavy  night-drag  of  eigh 
teen  miles,  was  so  essentially  ridiculous  that  no  well-bred  horse 
could  have  entertained  it.  Ours  perceived  this  instinctively, 
and  soon  slacked  up,  while  the  driver  recovered  his  feet  and 
his  reins,  if  he  had  ever  fully  lost  the  latter.  I  cannot  say  how 
I  came  out  of  the  dilapidated  vehicle,  nor  could  the  driver  give 
me  any  light  on  the  subject ;  but  I  soon  found  myself  resum 
ing  the  perpendicular,  and  facing  rearward  in  quest  of  my 
hat,  which  I  found  in  a  wayside  pond  several  rods  back,  two 
thirds  full  of  water,  but  still  floating.  My  blanket  I  fished 
out  of  the  semi-liquid  mud  about  midway  between  my  goal 
and  my  starting-point,  and,  for  the  first  time  on  my  journey, 
found  its  company  disagreeable. 


570  MISCELLANIES. 

Men  never  know  when  they  are  well  off.  Five  minutes 
before,  I  had  been  industriously  cherishing  my  cold,  wet  feet, 
fencing  off  the  driving  rain,  and  fancying  myself  an  object  of 
just  compassion ;  now,  I  saw  clearly  that,  so  long  as  the  car 
riage  remained  sound,  I  had  been  in  an  enviable  state  of  ease 
and  enjoyment.  Throwing  my  soiled  blanket  over  one  arm, 
and  taking  my  valise  in  the  opposite  hand,  I  pulled  one  foot 
after  another  out  of  the  deep,  tarry  mud,  losing  both  my  well- 
fastened  overshoes  therein  without  knowing  it,  and  pushed 
through  to  a  tavern  at  the  rate  of  a  mile  and  a  half  per  hour, 
in  a  state  of  general  bedragglement  and  desperate  jollity 
which  Mark  Tapley  could  not  have  bettered. 

It  was  4  A.  M.  when  a  hospitable  roof  overshadowed  us. 
The  house  was  full,  and  my  petition  for  a  pair  of  slippers,  and 
a  room  with  a  fire  in  it,  could  not  be  granted.  But  a  bar 
room  fire  was  got  up,  and  a  bed  in  due  time  provided,  though 
a  ball  that  night  in  the  village  —  no,  city  —  had  absorbed 
most  of  the  accommodations.  But  our  noble  horses  found 
what  they  needed,  and  we  had  an  hour's  sleep  or  more,  though 
I  did  not  incline  to  sleep  at  all.  I  got  up  to  breakfast,  and 
to  find  all  as  I  expected  about  the  railroad.  The  Chicago 
night-train  went  down  nearly  on  time,  but  did  not  reach 
Oquawka  Junction,  finding  the  track  all  washed  out  at  the 
crossing  of  "South  Henderson,"  ten  miles  below.  But  its 
engine  came  back  about  9  A.M.,  took  on  board  half  a  dozen  of 
us,  and  backed  up  to  Galesburg  (seventeen  miles)  in  less 
than  an  hour ;  saving  me  another  dreaded  carriage-ride  of  at 
least  six  hours.  We  crossed  one  washed-out  place,  which 
threatened  to  throw  us  off,  but  did  not.  I  guess  I  am  the 
last  person  who  will  have  left  Oquawka  for  several  days,  and 
suspect  Burlington  (Iowa)  has  parted  company  with  the  world 
eastward  of  the  Mississippi  for  at  least  as  many. 

MORAL.  —  We  are  none  of  us  half  grateful  enough  for  the 
blessings  of  railroads,  —  when  the  trains  run,  and  the  cars 
don't  fly  the  track. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE. 

A  DISCUSSION  BETWEEN  HORACE  GREELEY  AND  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN. 


DIVORCE.  — WOMAN'S   RIGHTS.* 

OUR  Legislature  is  again  importuned  to  try  its  hand  at 
increasing  the  facilities  of  divorce.  We  trust  it  will 
ponder  long  and  carefully  before  it  consents.  That  many  per 
sons  are  badly  mated  is  true ;  but  that  is  not  the  law's  fault. 
The  law  of  our  State  says  plainly  to  all  the  unmarried,  "  Be 
very  careful  how  you  marry ;  for  a  mistake  in  this  regard  is 
irrevocable.  The  law  does  not  constrain  you  to  marry,  does 
not  hurry  you  to  marry,  but  bids  you  be  first  sure  that  you 
know  intimately  and  love  devotedly  the  person  with  whom 
you  form  this  irrevocable  union.  We  rectify  no  mistakes  ;  it 
rests  with  you  not  to  make  any.  If  you  do,  bear  the  penalty 
as  you  ought,  and  do  not  seek  to  transfer  it  to  the  shoulders  of 
the  community."  And  this,  we  think,  is,  in  the  broad  view, 
right,  though  in  special  cases  it  involves  hardship. 

The  paradise  of  free-lovers  is  the  State  of  Indiana,  where 
the  lax  principles  of  Robert  Dale  Owen,  and  the  utter  want 
of  principle  of  John  Pettit  (leading  revisers  of  the  laws), 
combined  to  establish,  some  years  since,  a  state  of  law  which 
enables  men  or  women  to  get  unmarried  nearly  at  pleasure. 
A  legal  friend  in  that  State  recently  remarked  to  us,  that,  at 
one  County  Court,  he  obtained  eleven  divorces  one  day  before 
dinner ;  "  and  it  was  n't  a  good  morning  for  divorces  either." 
In  one  case  within  his  knowledge,  a  prominent  citizen  of  an 
Eastern  manufacturing  city  came  to  Indiana,  went  through 

*  Editorial  in  The  Tribune  of  March  1,  1860. 


572  MISCELLANIES. 

the  usual  routine,  obtained  his  divorce  about  dinner-time, 
and,  in  the  course  of  the  evening  was  married  to  his  new 
inamorata,  who  had  come  on  for  the  purpose,  and  was  staying 
at  the  same  hotel  with  him.  They  soon  started  for  home, 
having  no  more  use  for  the  State  of  Indiana  ;  and,  on  arriving, 
he  introduced  his  new  wife  to  her  astonished  predecessor, 
whom  he  notified  that  she  must  pack  up  and  go,  as  there  was 
no  room  for  her  in  that  house  any  longer.  So  she  went. 

How  many  want  such  facility  of  divorcing  in  New  York  ? 
We  trust  not  one  in  a  hundred.  If  we  are  right  in  this  judg 
ment,  let  the  ninety-nine  make  themselves  heard  at  Albany 
as  well  as  the  one.  The  discontented  are  always  active ;  the 
contented  ought  not  to  sleep  evermore. 

We  favor  whatever  may  be  done  to  mitigate  the  hardships 
endured  by  mismated  persons  in  perfect  consistency  with  the 
maintenance  of  the  sanctity  and  perpetuity  of  Marriage. 
Cases  are  constantly  occurring  in  which  a  virtuous  and  wor 
thy  girl  persists  in  marrying  a  dissolute  scapegrace,  in  spite 
of  the  most  conclusive  demonstrations  of  his  worthlessness. 
Five  years  hence,  when  he  has  become  a  miserable  loafer  and 
sot,  she  will  wish  herself  divorced  from  him ;  but  the  law 
says  No,  and  we  stand  by  it.  But  the  law  ought  to  allow  her 
to  earn  for  herself  and  her  little  ones,  and  not  enable  him  to 
appropriate  and  squander  her  few  hard-won  shillings.  This  is 
asked  for,  and  ought  to  be  granted.  So  the  law  should  allow 
the  woman  who  is  living  wholly  separate  from  her  hus 
band,  by  reason  of  his  brutality,  cruelty,  or  profligacy,  to  have 
the  same  control  over  her  property  and  earnings  as  if  she  had 
never  married.  This  is  not  now  the  case.  Nay;  we  know 
an  instance  in  which  a  woman,  long  since  separated  from  her 
worthless  husband,  and  trying  hard  to  earn  a  meagre  living 
for  their  children,  was  disabled  and  crippled  by  a  railroad 
accident ;  yet  the  law  gives  her  no  right  of  action  against  the 
culpable  company ;  her  broken  ankles  are  legally  her  runa 
way  husband's,  not  her  own  ;  and  he  would  probably  sell 
them  outright  for  a  gallon  of  good  brandy,  and  let  the  com 
pany  finish  the  job  of  breaking  them  at  its  convenience. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  573 

We  heartily  approve  of  such  changes  in  our  laws  as  would 
make  this  deserted  wife  the  legal  owner  of  her  own  ankles ; 
but  we  would  not  dissolve  the  marriage  obligation  to  constancy 
for  any  other  cause  than  that  recognized  as  sufficient  by 
Jesus  Christ. 


MR.    OWEN'S    RESPONSE.* 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  TRIBUNE  :  — 

SIR  :  Eetired  from  political  life,  and  now  disposed  to  ad 
dress  the  public,  if  at  all,  through  a  calmer  medium  than  the 
columns  of  a  daily  paper,  still,  I  cannot  read  the  allusion  in 
this  morning's  Tribune,  made  in  connection  with  an  im 
portant  subject,  to  my  adopted  State  and  to  myself  by  name, 
without  feeling  that  justice  to  both,  and,  what  is  of  more  con 
sequence,  the  fair  statement  of  a  question  involving  much  of 
human  morality  and  happiness,  require  of  me  a  few  words. 
You  say :  — 

"  The  Paradise  of  free-lovers  is  the  State  of  Indiana,  where  the 
lax  principles  of  Robert  Dale  Owen,  and  the  utter  want  of  princi 
ple  of  John  Pettit  (leading  revisers  of  the  laws),  combined  to 
establish,  some  years  since,  a  state  of  law  which  enables  men  and 
women  to  get  unmarried  nearly  at  pleasure." 

You  are  usually,  I  think,  correct  in  your  statements  of 
fact,  and  doubtless  always  intend  to  be  so.  That  in  this  en 
deavor  you  sometimes  fail,  we  have  a  proof  to-day. 

So  far  as  I  recollect,  the  Indiana  law  of  divorce  does  not 
owe  a  single  section  to  Mr.  Pettit.  Be  that,  however,  as  it 
may,  it  owes  one  of  its  provisions,  and  one  only,  to  me.  I 
found  that  law  thirty-four  years  ago,  when  I  first  became  a 
resident  of  the  State,  in  substance  nearly  what  it  now  is  ;  in 
deed,  with  all  its  essential  features  the  same.  It  was  once 
referred  to  myself,  in  conjunction  with  another  member  of  the 
Legislature,  for  revision ;  and  we  amended  it  in  a  single 
point;  namely,  by  adding  to  the  causes  of  divorce  "  habit- 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  5,  1860. 


574  MISCELLANIES. 

ual  drunkenness  for  two  years."  In  no  other  particular, 
either  by  vote  or1  proposition,  have  I  been  instrumental  in 
framing  or  amending  the  law  in  question,  directly  or  in 
directly. 

Do  not  imagine,  however,  that  I  seek  to  avoid  any  respon 
sibility  in  regard  to  that  law  as  it  stands.  I  cordially  ap 
prove  it.  It  has  stood  the  test  for  forty  or  fifty  years  among  a 
people  whom,  if  you  knew  them  as  intimately  as  I  do,  candor 
would  compel  you  to  admit  to  be,  according  to  the  strictest 
standard  of  morality  you  may  set  up,  not  one  whit  behind 
those  of  sister  States,  perhaps  of  more  pretensions.  I  approve 
the  law,  not  on  principle  only,  but  because,  for  more  than 
half  a  lifetime,  I  have  witnessed  its  practical  workings.  I 
speak  of  its  influence  on  our  own  citizens.  It  is  much  to  be 
regretted  that  any  one  should  ever  be  compelled  to  seek  a 
divorce  out  of  his  own  State.  But,  even  in  alluding  to  abuses 
which  have  occurred  in  this  connection,  you-  failed  to  tell 
your  readers,  what  perhaps  you  did  not  know,  that  our  law 
has  of  late  years  been  so  changed  that  the  cases  you  state 
cannot  possibly  recur.  No  one  can  now  sue  for  a  divorce  in 
Indiana,  until  he  has  been  during  one  year,  at  least,  a  resident 
of  the  State ;  and  the  provision  regarding  timely  notice  to  the 
absent  party  is  of  the  strictest  kind. 

You  speak  of  Indiana  as  "  the  Paradise  of  free-lovers."  It 
is  in  New  York  and  New  England,  refusing  reasonable  divorce, 
that  free-love  prevails ;  not  in  Indiana.  I  never  even  heard 
the  name  there.  You  locate  the  Paradise,  then,  too  far 
west. 

And  does  it  not  occur  to  you,  when  a  million  of  men,  — 
chiefly  plain,  hardy,  industrious  farmers,  with  wives  whom, 
after  the  homely  old  fashion,  they  love,  and  daughters  whose 
chastity  and  happiness  are  as  dear  to  them  as  if  their  homes 
were  the  wealthiest  in  the  land,  —  does  it  not  occur  to  Horace 
Greeley  that,  when  these  men  go  on  deliberately  for  half  a 
century  maintaining  unchanged  (or,  if  changed  at  all,  made 
more  liberal)  a  law  of  divorce  which  he  denounces  as  breed 
ing  disorder  and  immorality,  —  that  the  million,  with  their 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  575 

long  experience,  may  be  right,  and  that  Horace  Greeley,  with 
out  that  experience,  may  be  wrong  ? 

You  talk  of  my  "lax  principles."  I  think  that,  by  my 
past  life,  I  have  earned  the  right  to  be  believed  when  I  say 
what  are  my  principles  and  what  are  not. 

On  this  subject,  they  go  just  so  far  as  the  Indiana  law,  and 
no  further.  I  have  given  proof  of  this.  I  have  had  a  hun 
dred  opportunities,  and  never  used  them,  to  move  its  amend 
ment.  I  was  chairman  of  the  Revision  Committee  of  our 
Constitutional  Convention  ;  but  in  our  Constitution  we  incor 
porated  nothing  in  regard  to  divorce,  except  a  prohibition 
against  all  divorces  by  the  Legislature.  To  that,  I  think  you 
will  not  object.  At  the  next  session,  I  was  chairman  of  the 
committee  to  revise  the  laws ;  but  we  merely  reenacted  the 
old  divorce  law,  of  which  experience  had  taught  us  the  bene 
fits.  It  grants  divorce  for  other  causes  than  the  one  your  law 
selects,  —  as  for  abandonment ;  for  cruet  treatment ;  for  habit 
ual  drunkenness  ;  and  for  any  other  cause  for  which  the  court 
may  deem  it  proper  that  a  divorce  should  be  granted. 

Are  these  "  lax  principles  "  ?  I  claim  to  have  them  judged 
according  to  a  Christian  rule.  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them."  You  have  elopements,  adultery,  which  your  law,  by 
rendering  it  indispensable  to  release,  virtually  encourages ; 
you  have  free-love,  and  that  most  terrible  of  all  social  evils, 
prostitution.  We,  instead,  have  regulated,  legal  separations. 
You  may  feel  disposed  to  thank  God  that  you  are  not  as 
other  men,  or  even  as  these  Indianians.  I  think  that  we  are 
justified  in  His  sight,  rather  than  you. 

Or  is  it,  perhaps,  the  amendment  I  did  propose  and  carry 
which  seems  to  you  lax  in  principle  ?  —  the  provision, 
namely,  that  a  wife  should  not  be  compelled  to  live  with  one 
who  has  been,  for  years,  an  habitual  drunkard.  You  have  told 
us  that  she  ought  to  be  so  compelled.  It  constantly  occurs, 
you  say,  that  a  "virtuous  and  worthy  girl"  marries  a  man 
who  "  becomes  a  miserable  loafer  and  sot "  ;  and  you  add : 
"  She  will  wish  herself  divorced  from  him ;  but  the  law  says 
No,  and  we  stand  to  it." 


576  MISCELLANIES. 

Think,  for  a  moment,  what  this  actually  involves  !  Let  us 
take  the  "  single  captive,"  lest  the  multiplicity  of  images  dis 
tract  us.  See  the  young  creature,  "virtuous  and  worthy," 
awaiting,  late  in  the  solitary  night,  the  fate  to  which,  for  life, 
you  consign  her ;  and  that  for  no  sin  more  heinous  than  that 
her  girl's  heart,  believing  in  human  goodness,  had  trusted  the 
vows  and  promises  of  a  scoundrel.  Is  it  her  home  where  she 
is  sitting  ?  Let  us  not  so  desecrate  the  hallowed  word.  It  is 
the  den  of  her  sufferings  and  of  her  shame.  A  bloated 
wretch,  whom  daily  and  nightly  debauch  has  degraded  below 
humanity,  has  the  right  to  enter  it.  In  what  temper  he  will 
arrive,  God  alone  knows,  —  all  the  animal  within  him,  proba 
bly,  aroused  by  drink.  Will  he  beat  her,  —  the  mother  of  his 
children,  the  one  he  has  sworn  to  love  and  protect  ?  Likely 
enough.  Ah  !  well  if  that  be  all !  The  scourge,  though  its 
strokes  may  cause  the  flesh  to  shudder,  cannot  reach  the  soul. 
But  the  possible  outrages  of  this  "  miserable  loafer  and  sot " 
may.  He  has  the  command  of  torments,  legally  permitted,  far 
beyond  those  of  the  lash.  That  bedchamber  is  his,  and  the 
bed  is  the  beast's  own  lair.  It  depends,  too,  on  the  brute's 
drunken  will  whether  it  shall  be  shared  or  not.  Caliban  is 
lord  and  master,  by  legal  right.  There  is  not  a  womanly  in 
stinct  that  he  cannot  outrage ;  not  a  holy  emotion  that  he 
may  not  profane.  He  is  authorized  to  commit  what  more 
resembles  an  infamous  crime  —  usually  rated  second  to  mur 
der,  and  often  punished  with  death  —  than  anything  else. 

And  in  this  foul  pit  of  degradation  you  would  leave  to  a 
fate  too  horrible  for  infamy  itself,  a  pure,  gentle,  blameless, 
Christian  wife  !  Her  cry  thence  may  ascend  to  heaven ;  but, 
on  earth,  you  think  it  should  be  stifled  or  contemned.  She 
entreats  for  relief,  —  for  escape  from  the  pollution  she  ab 
hors  ;  you  look  down  upon  her  misery,  and  answer  her,  "  The 
law  says  No,  and  we  stand  to  it." 

God  forgive  you,  Horace  Greeley,  the  inhuman  sentiment ! 
I  believe  you  to  be  a  good  man,  desiring  human  improvement, 
the  friend  of  what  you  deem  essential  to  social  morality. 
God  send  that  you  may  never,  in  the  person  of  a  daughter 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  577 

of  your  own,  and  in  the  recital  of  her  tortures,  practically 
learn  the  terrible  lesson  how  far  you  have  strayed  from  the 
right ! 

Further  to  argue  the  general  question  would  be  an  unwar 
rantable  intrusion  on  your  columns.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that,  if 
I  differ  from  you  as  to  the  expediency  of  occasionally  dissolv 
ing  misery-bringing  unions,  it  is  precisely  because  I  regard 
the  marriage  relation  as  the  holiest  of  earthly  institutions. 
It  is  for  that  very  reason  that  I  seek  to  preserve  its  purity, 
when  other  expedients  fail,  by  the  besom  of  divorce.  No 
human  relation  ought  to  be  suffered  so  to  degenerate  that  it 
defeats  the  purpose  of  its  institution.  God  imposes  no  laws 
on  man  merely  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  obeyed ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  with  special  reference  to  His  creatures' 
welfare  and  improvement.  Marriage  itself,  like  the  Sabbath, 
was  made  for  man ;  not  man  for  marriage.  It  fulfils  God's 
intentions  so  long  as  the  domestic  home  is  the  abode  of  pu 
rity,  of  noble  sentiment,  of  loving-kindness,  or,  at  least,  of 
mutual  forbearance.  But  it  defeats  His  purpose,  and  violates 
the  Divine  economy,  when  it  becomes  the  daily  cause  of  griev 
ous  words  and  heartless  deeds,  —  of  anger,  strifes,  selfishness, 
cruelty,  ruffianism.  That  it  should  ever  be  thus  degraded 
and  perverted,  all  good  men  must  lament;  and  all  ought 
earnestly  to  seek  the  most  effectual  remedy. 

In  no  country  have  I  found  the  marriage  obligation  so 
little  binding  as  in  the  nation  *  near  whose  court,  as  minis 
ter,  I  recently  spent  five  years,  —  a  country  where  Marriage 
is  a  sacrament  and  Divorce  an  impossibility  ;  and  where, 
indeed,  on  account  of  their  "lax  principles,"  the  inhabit 
ants  neither  need  nor  care  for  it.  In  no  country  have  I 
seen  marriage  and  its  vows  more  strictly  respected  than  in 
my  adopted  State,  where  the  relation,  when  it  engenders 
immorality,  may  be  terminated  by  law.  For  the  rest,  divorces 
in  Indiana  are  far  less  frequent  than  strangers,  reading  our 
divorce  law,  might  be  led  to  imagine.  We  find  Jefferson's 
words  to  be  as  true  of  married  persons  as  of  the  rest  of  man- 

*  Naples. 
37 


578  MISCELLANIES. 

kind.  They  "  are  more  disposed  to  suffer  while  evils  are 
sufferable,  than  to  right  themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms 
to  which  they  have  been  accustomed." 

The  question  remains,  whether  it  be  more  pleasing  in  the 
sight  of  God,  and  more  conducive  to  virtue  in  man,  to  part 
decently  in  peace,  or  to  live  on  in  shameful  discord. 
I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

EOBEKT  DALE  OWEN. 

NEW  YORK,  March  1,  1860. 


REPLY    BY    MR.   GTREELEY.* 

To  THE  HON.  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN,  OF  INDIANA  :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  I  had  not  expected  to  provoke  your  letter 
this  day  published ;  but  the  subject  is  one  of  the  highest 
and  widest  importance,  and  I  am  very  willing  to  aid  in  its 
further  elucidation. 

I  do  not  think  the  issues  of  fact  raised  by  you  need  long 
detain  us.  The  country  knows  that  you  have  for  the  last 
thirty  years  and  more  been  a  leading  member  of  the  generally 
dominant  party  in  Indiana,  —  almost  the  only  member  who 
could  with  propriety  be  termed  a  political  philosopher.  As 
such,  you  have  naturally  exerted  a  very  great  influence  over 
the  legislation  and  internal  policy  of  that  State.  Often  a 
member  of  her  Legislature  as  well  as  of  Congress,  and  one  of 
the  revisers  of  her  laws,  you  admit  that  the  Law  of  Marriage 
and  Divorce  came  at  one  time  directly  and  distinctly  under 
review  before  you,  and  that  you  ingrafted  thereon  a  provi 
sion  adding  another  —  habitual  drunkenness  —  to  the  pre 
existing  grounds  on  which  divorce  might  legally  be  granted. 
As  to  "  lax  principles,"  I  need  not  say  more  than  that  I 
cite  your  letter  now  before  me  as  a  sample  and  illustration. 

But  let  me  brush  away  one  cobweb  of  your  brain.  You 
picture  the  case  of  a  pure  and  gentle  woman  exposed  to  the 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  6,  1860. 


.       MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  579 

brutalities  and  cruelties  of  a  beastly  sot  of  a  husband.  For 
such  cases,  our  laws  grant  a  separation  from  bed  and  board, 
—  not  a  disruption  of  the  marriage  tie,  with  liberty  to  marry 
again.  I  think  this  is  just  right.  I  would  not  let  loose 
such  a  wretch  as  you  have  depicted  to  delude  and  torture 
another  "  pure  and  virtuous  girl."  Let  one  victim  suffice  him. 
Your  reference  to  the  "blameless  Christian  wife,"  and  to 
what  is  "  more  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  God,"  impels  me  to 
say  that  I  must  consider  Jesus  of  Nazareth  a  better  au 
thority  as  to  what  is  Christian  and  what  pleases  God  than 
you  are.  His  testimony  on  this  point  is  express  and  un 
equivocal  (Matt.  xix.  9),  that  a  marriage  can  be  rightfully 
dissolved  because  of  adultery  alone.  You  well  know  that 
was  not  the  law  either  of  Jews  or  Romans  in  his  day ;  so 
that  he  cannot  have  been  misled  by  custom  or  tradition, 
even  were  it  possible  for  him  to  have  been  mistaken.  I 
believe  he  was  wholly  right. 

For  what  is  Marriage  ?  I  mind  the  Apostolic  injunction, 
"  Hold  fast  the  form  of  sound  words."  Dr.  Webster's  great 
dictionary  says  :  — 

"  MARRIAGE  :  The  act  of  uniting  a  man  and  woman  for  life  ; 
wedlock  ;  the  legal  union  of  a  man  and  woman  for  life.  Marriage 
is  a  contract  both  civil  and  religious,  by  which  the  parties  engage 
to  live  together  in  mutual  affection  and  fidelity  till  death  shall 
separate  them." 

So  Worcester  :  — 

"  MARRIAGE  :  the  act  of  marrying,  or  uniting  a  man  and  woman 
for  life  as  husband  and  wife,"  &c.,  &c. 

I  surely  need  not  quote  to  you  the  language  of  the  maT- 
riage  ceremony,  —  the  mutual  and  solemn  promise  to  "  take 
each  other  for  better,  for  worse,"  and  "  to  live  together  till 
death  do  part','  &c.,  &c.  You  must  be  aware  that  the  entire 
Christian,  and  I  think  most  of  the  partially  civilized  pagan 
world,  regard  this  solemn  contract  to  cleave  to  each  other  till 
kdeath  as  the  very  essence,  the  vital  element,  of  Marriage. 

Now  it  is  not  here  necessary  that  I  should  prove  this  better 


580  MISCELLANIES. 

than  any  possible  substitute:  suffice  it  that  I  insist  that 
whoever  would  recommend  a  substitute  should  clearly,  spe 
cifically,  set  forth  its  nature  and  conditions,  and  should  call 
it  by  its  distinctive  name.  There  may  be  something  better 
than  Marriage ;  but  nothing  is  Marriage  but  a  solemn  engage 
ment  to  live  together  in  faith  and  love  till  death.  Why 
should  not  they,  who  have  devised  something  better  than 
old-fashioned  Marriage,  give  their  bantling  a  distinctive  name, 
and  not  appropriate  ours  ?  They  have  been  often  enough 
warned  off  our  premises  ;  shall  we  never  be  able  to  shame 
them  out  of  their  unwarrantable  poaching  ? 

I  am  perfectly  willing  to  see  all  social  experiments  tried 
that  any  earnest,  rational  being  deems  calculated  to  promote 
the  well-being  of  the  human  family ;  but  I  insist  that  this 
matter  of  Marriage  and  Divorce  has  passed  beyond  the  rea 
sonable  scops  of  experiment.  The  ground  has  all  been 
travelled  over  and  over:  —  from  Indissoluble  Monoganiic 
Marriage  down  through  Polygamy,  Concubinage,  easy  Divorce, 
to  absolute  Free  Love,  mankind  have  tried  every  possible 
modification  and  shade  of  relation  between  Man  and  Woman. 
If  these  multiform,  protracted,  diversified,  infinitely  repeated, 
experiments  have  not  established  the  superiority  of  the  union 
of  one  man  to  one  woman  for  life  — in  short,  Marriage— to 
all  other  forms  of  sexual  relation,  then  History  is  a  deluding 
mist,  and  Man  has  hitherto  lived  in  vain. 

But  you  assert  that  the  people  of  Indiana  are  emphatically 
moral  and  chaste  in  their  domestic  relations.  That  may  be  ; 
at  all  events,  /  have  not  yet  called  it  in  question.  Indiana 
is  yet  a  young  State,  —  not  so  old  as  either  you  or  I,  —  and 
most  of  her  adult  population  were  born,  and  I  think  most  of 
them  were  reared  and  married,  in  States  which  teach  and 
maintain  the  Indissolubility  of  Marriage.  That  population  is 
yet  sparse  ;  the  greater  part  of  it  in  moderate  circumstances, 
engaged  in  rural  industry,  and  but  slightly  exposed  to  the 
temptations  born  of  crowds,  luxury,  and  idleness.  In  such 
circumstances,  continence  would  probably  be  general,  even 
were  Marriage  unknown.  But  let  Time  and  Change  do  their 


.       MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  581 

work,  and  then  see  !  Given  the  population  of  Italy  in  the 
days  of  the  Caesars,  with  easy  divorce,  and  I  believe  the 
result  would  be  like  that  experienced  by  the  Eoman  Eepublic, 
which,  under  the  sway  of  easy  divorce,  rotted  away  and 
perished,  —  blasted  by  the  mildew  of  unchaste  mothers  and 
dissolute  homes. 

If  experiments  are  to  be  tried  in  the  direction  you  favor,  I 
insist  that  they  shall  be  tried  fairly,  —  not  under  cover  of 
false  promises  and  baseless  pretences.  Let  those  who  will 
take  each  other  on  trial ;  but  let  such  unions  have  a  distinct 
name  as  in  Paris  or  Hayti,  and  let  us  know  just  who  are 
married  (old  style),  and  who  have  formed  unions  to  be  main 
tained  or  terminated  as  circumstances  shall  dictate.  Those 
who  choose  the  latter  will  of  course  consummate  it  without 
benefit  of  clergy ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  they  need  even  so 
much  ceremony  as  that  of  jumping  the  broomstick.  "  I  '11 
love  you  so  long  as  I  'm  able,  and  swear  for  no  longer  than 
this,"  —  what  need  is  there  of  any  solemnity  to  hallow  such 
a  union  ?  What  libertine  would  hesitate  to  promise  that 
much,  even  if  fully  resolved  to  decamp  next  morning  ?  If 
man  and  woman  are  to  be  true  to  each  other  only  so  long  as 
they  shall  each  find  constancy  the  dictate  of  their  several 
inclinations,  there  can  be  no  such  crime  as  adultery,  and 
mankind  have  too  long  been  defrauded  of  innocent  enjoyment 
by  priestly  anathemas  and  ghostly  maledictions.  Let  us 
each  do  what  for  the  moment  shall  give  us  pleasurable  sensa 
tions,  and  let  all  such  fantasies  as  God,  Duty,  Conscience, 
Eetribution,  Eternity,  be  banished  to  the  moles  and  the  bats, 
with  other  forgotten  rubbish  of  bygone  ages  of  darkness  and 
unreal  terrors. 

But  if —  as  I  firmly  believe  —  Marriage  is  a  matter  which 
concerns  not  only  the  men  and  women  who  contract  it,  but 
the  State,  the  community,  mankind,  —  if  its  object  be  not 
merely  the  mutual  gratification  and  advantage  of  the  husband 
and  wife,  but  the  due  sustenance,  nurture,  and  education  of 
their  children,  —  if,  in  other  words,  those  who  voluntarily 
incur  the  obligations  of  parentage  can  only  discharge  those 


582  MISCELLANIES. 

obligations  personally  arid  conjointly,  and  to  that  end  are 
bound  to  live  together  in  love,  at  least  until  their  youngest 
child  shall  have  attained  perfect  physical  and  intellectual 
maturity,  —  then  I  deny  that  a  marriage  can  be  dissolved 
save  by  death  or  that  crime  which  alone  renders  its  continu 
ance  impossible.  I  look  beyond  the  special  case  to  the  gen 
eral  law,  and  to  the  reason  which  underlies  that  law ;  and  I 
say,  —  No  couple  can  innocently  take  upon  themselves  the 
obligations  of  Marriage  until  they  KNOW  that  they  are  one  in 
spirit,  and  so  must  remain  forever.  If  they  rashly  lay  pro 
fane  hands  on  the  ark,  theirs  alone  is  the  blame ;  be  theirs 
alone  the  penalty  !  They  have  no  right  to  cast  it  on  that 
public  which  admonished  and  entreated  them  to  forbear,  but 
admonished  and  entreated  in  vain.  Yours, 

HORACE  GREELEY. 

NEW  YORK,  March  5,  1860. 


MR.   OWEN'S    REJOINDER.* 

To  THE  HON.  HORACE  GREELEY  :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  In  one  matter  we  shall  not  differ,  and  that 
is  in  the  opinion  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  should  be  considered 
better  authority  as  to  what  is  Christian  —  and  I  will  add  as 
to  what  is  conducive  to  public  morals  —  than  either  you  or  I. 
The  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  settle  down  to  the  conviction 
that  the  one  great  miracle  of  history  is,  that  a  system  of 
ethics  so  far  in  advance  as  was  the  Christian  System,  not  only 
of  the  semi-barbarism  of  Jewish  life  eighteen  hundred  years 
ago,  but  of  what  we  term  the  civilization  of  our  own  day, 
should  have  taken  root,  and  lived,  and  spread,  where  every 
opinion  seemed  adverse  and  every  influence  hostile.  But, 
before  we  take  Christ's  opinion  on  the  subject  in  hand,  let  us 
go  a  little  further  back. 

You  tell  us  that  "  the  very  essence  of  marriage  "  is,  that 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  12,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  583 

the  married  should  "  cleave  to  each  other  till  death."  And, 
as  a  corollary,  you  insist  that,  if  this  condition  is  ever  violated 
(as  by  the  action  of  a  divorce  law),  then  it  is  not  Marriage 
which  prevails,  but  only  a  substitute.  You  add  : — 

"  I  insist  that  whoever  would  recommend  such  substitute  should 
clearly,  specifically  set  forth  its  nature  and  conditions,  and  should 
call  it  by  its  distinctive  name.  There  may  be  something  better 
than  Marriage,  but  nothing  is  Marriage  but  a  solemn  engagement 
to  live  together  till  death.  Why  should  not  they  who  have  de 
vised  something  better  than  old-fashioned  Marriage  give  their 
bantling  a  distinctive  name,  and  not  appropriate  ours]  They 
have  been  often  warned  off  our  premises ;  shall  we  never  be  able 
to  shame  them  out  of  their  unwarrantable  poaching?"  [The 
Italics  are  yours.] 

This  is  plain.  If  the  law  regards  Marriage  as  a  contract 
which,  under  any  circumstances,  may  be  terminated,  then 
(you  allege)  men  and  women  live  together  under  what  is  but 
a  substitute  for  marriage,  —  under  what  should  go  by  the 
name  of  concubinage,  or  some  similar  term.  Such  is  the 
state  of  things,  you  infer,  under  the  present  Indiana  law. 

I  do  not  think  you  reflected  what  a  sweeping  assertion  you 
were  here  making.  For  there  is  not  a  State  in  the  Union 
—  not  even  New  York  —  which  is  without  a  divorce  law. 
In  every  State  of  the  Union,  therefore,  Marriage  is  a  contract 
of  such  a  nature  that  contingencies  may  arise  under  which 
the  married  may  not  "  live  together  until  death  them  do 
part."  If,  then,  the  possible  contingency  of  separation,  legally 
admitted,  annuls  "the  very  essence  of  marriage,"  and  con 
verts  it  into  concubinage,  in  what  condition,  I  pray  you,  are 
married  people  living  throughout  the  United  States  ? 

The  same  state  of  things  prevails  in  all  Protestant  countries. 
Only  in  those  which  acknowledge  the  Pope  as  their  relig 
ious  head  is  Marriage  an  indissoluble  sacrament.  Is  it  your 
opinion  that  Catholics  only  are  really  married  ? 

But  this  is  a  mere  instalment  of  the  difficulties  which  in 
here  in  your  proposition.  Moses,  of  whom  we  are  told  (Deu 
teronomy  v.  31)  that  God  said  to  him :  "  Stand  thou  here  by 


584  MISCELLANIES. 

me,  and  I  will  speak  unto  thee  all  the  commandments,  and 
the  statutes,  and  the  judgments  which  thou  shalt  teach  my 
people,"  promulgated  to  the  Jews  a  law  of  divorce.  Our 
divorce-law  in  Indiana  must  be,  even  in  your  eyes,  a  moral 
statute,  compared  to  that  of  the  Jewish  lawgiver;  for  the 
latter  provided  :  "  When  a  man  hath  taken  a  wife  and  married 
her,  and  it  come  to  pass  that  she  find  no  favor  in  his  eyes, 
then  let  him  write  her  a  bill  of  divorcement,  and  give  it  in 
her  hand,  and  send  her  out  of  his  house.  And  when  she  is 
departed  out  of  his  house,  she  may  go  and  be  another  man's 
wife."  (Deuteronomy  xxiv.  1.)  This,  unless  you  deny  the 
record,  you  must  admit  to  be  God's  own  law.  It  was  first 
declared,  according  to  the  usual  chronology,  about  1450 
years  before  the  Christian  era.  It  remained  unchanged  till 
Christ's  day.  Joseph  and  Mary  were  married  under  it ;  and 
the  former,  when  he  doubted  Mary's  fidelity,  was  "  minded  to 
put  her  away  privily."  For  fourteen  centuries  and  a  half,  then, 
God's  chosen  people,  living  under  His  law,  had,  according  to 
you,  a  mere  substitute  for  marriage.  What  distinctive  name 
the  "bantling"  deserves,  I  leave  to  your  judgment.  We 
have  been  accustomed  to  regard  it  as  "old-fashioned  mar 
riage."  It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  contract,  under  such 
a  law,  was,  "  I  will  be  your  husband  just  as  long  as  you  find 
favor  in  my  eyes ;  and,  as  soon  as  you  cease  to  do  so,  you 
shall  have  a  bill  of  divorcement,  and  be  sent  out  of  my  house. 
Then  you  may  marry  whom  you  please." 

Jesus  tells  us  that  this  law  was  given  "because  of  the 
hardness  of  their  hearts  " ;  or,  as  we  should  now  express  it, 
because  of  the  low  grade  of  morality  then  existing  in  Judea. 
Nevertheless,  if  it  really  be  God's  own  law,  how  can  you 
allege  that  it  is  wrong  in  itself  ?  But,  if  it  be  not  wrong,  then 
divorce,  even  of  the  easiest  attainment,  must,  in  a  certain 
state  of  society,  be  right.  And  hence  results  another  impor 
tant  principle ;  namely,  that  there  is  no  absolute  right  or 
wrong  about  this  matter  of  divorce ;  but  that  it  may  proper 
ly  vary  in  its  details  at  different  stages  of  civilization.  It  is 
certain  that,  under  the  Divine  Economy,  our  modern  sense  of 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  585 

propriety  and  morality  has  been  so  developed,  that  we  should 
not  tolerate  the  Jewish  statute  giving  uncontrolled  license  to 
the  husband,  but  no  right  of  relief  whatever  to  the  wife. 

Jesus,  discarding  the  old  law,  is  stated  to  have  proposed 
(as  you  remind  us)  to  the  people  of  his  day  a  substitute  where 
there  was  but  a  single  cause  for  divorce,  —  the  same  recognized 
by  the  New  York  statute.  But  his  idea  of  conjugal  infidelity 
was  not  that  entertained  in  our  courts  of  law.  He  looked, 
beyond  surface-morality,  to  the  heart.  In  his  pure  eyes,  the 
thought  and  the  act  were  of  equal  criminality.  His  words 
were  :  "  Whosoever  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after  her  hath 
committed  adultery  with  her  already  in  his  heart."  (Mat 
thew  v.  28.)  The  fair  inference  seems  to  be,  that  the  proper 
cause  for  divorce  is,  not  the  mere  physical  act  of  infidelity, 
but  that  adultery  of  the  heart  which  quenches  conjugal  love  ; 
thus  destroying  that  which,  far  more  justly  than  your  cohabi 
tation  till  death,  may  be  regarded  as  "  the  very  essence  of 
Marriage." 

I  do  not  allege  that  Jesus  so  connected  his  two  teachings, 
—  that  regarding  divorce  and  that  defining  adultery,  —  that 
the  Jews  of  his  day,  gross-minded  as  they  were,  might  detect 
the  connection  and  perceive  its  inference.  If  the  Hebrews, 
in  Moses'  time,  were  so  steeped  in  barbarism  that  nothing 
better  than  the  bill-of-divorcement  privilege  was  suitable  for 
them,  we  may  readily  imagine  that,  even  after  fourteen  cen 
turies  had  elapsed,  enough  of  the  hardness  of  heart  would 
remain  to  justify  a  law,  in  advance  of  the  other,  indeed,  but 
still  only  adapted  to  a  hard,  material  race,  —  a  race  who  had 
not  learned  that  the  letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life,  — 
a  race  who  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  been  capable  of  appre 
ciating,  hardly  of  comprehending,  a  morality  of  standard  so 
exalted  that  the  thought  is  brought  to  judgment  though  the 
deed  disclose  it  not. 

I  will  go  further  and  admit  that,  if  the  words  of  Jesus,  in 
the  text  quoted  by  you,  have  come  down  to  us  reported  with 
strict  accuracy,  he  may  have  intended  the  men  of  his  day  to 
put  upon  them,  as  best  adapted  to  their  social  status,  the  lit- 


586  MISCELLANIES. 

erally  material  interpretation  which  seems  to  have  suggested 
itself  to  the  framers  of  the  New  York  divorce  law.  Jesus 
was  not  one  who  urged  reform,  as  some  modern  innovators 
do,  rashly  or  prematurely.  Prudence  was  one  of  his  distin 
guishing  characteristics.  He  said  not  all  that  was  in  itself 
true  and  proper  to  be  said  at  some  time,  but  only  all  the 
truths  which  the  people  to  whom  he  addressed  himself  were 
prepared  to  receive.  That  he  kept  back  a  part,  we  have  his 
own  words  to  prove*  "  I  have  yet  many  things  to  say  unto 
you,  but  ye  cannot  bear  them  now ;  howbeit,  when  He,  the 
Spirit  of  Truth,  is  come,  he  will  guide  you  into  all  truth." 
(John  xvi.  12,  13.) 

'Yet,  even  if  your  law-makers  but  received  the  same  impres 
sion  that  was  produced  on  the  Jews  by  Jesus'  words,  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  it  is  the  one  adapted  to  our  wants  and 
progress.  It  by  no  means  follows  that  we  should  not  look  be 
yond  the  dead  letter  to  the  living  spirit.  If  the  divorce  law 
promulgated  from  Mount  Sinai  was  no  longer  adapted  to  a 
world  grown  fifteen  hundred  years  older,  are  we  to  suppose 
that  eighteen  hundred  years  more,  passed  away,  have  brought 
with  them  no  need  for  another  advance  and  a  more  enlight 
ened  interpretation  ? 

Thus,  I  think,  I  have  shown  you :  — 

First.  That  it  will  not  do  to  warn  us  who  think  Divorce  a 
moralizing  engine,  as  poachers,  off  your  self-enfeoffed  prem 
ises  ;  or  to  bid  us  seek  some  name  other  than  Marriage  where 
with  to  designate  our  legal  unions.  The  Bible  tells  us  that 
the  ancestors  of  Christ  were  really  married ;  and  I  never 
heard  this  denied,  till  your  doctrine  denied  it. 

Second.  That,  according  to  the  Old  Testament,  easy  divorce 
was  expressly  permitted,  three  thousand  years  ago,  by  the 
Deity  himself. 

Third.  That  divorce  laws  may  properly  vary,  in  different 
stages  of  civilization.  And 

Fourth.  That  the  language  of  Jesus,  fairly  construed,  des 
ignates  the  proper  cause  of  divorce  to  be,  that  infidelity  of 
the  heart  which  defeats  the  true  purpose  of  marriage. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  587 

In  conclusion,  permit  me  to  say,  as  to  the  quasi-divorce  to 
which,  under  the  name  of  "  separation  from  bed  and  board," 
you  refer,  and  which  you  think  "just  right,"  that  of  all  the 
various  kinds  of  divorce  it  has  been  found,  in  practice,  to  be 
the  most  immoral  in  its  tendency.  The  subjects  of  it,  in  that 
nondescript  state  which  is  neither  married  nor  single,  are 
exposed  —  as  every  person  of  strong  affection  must  be  who 
takes  a  vow  of  celibacy  yet  mixes  with  the  world  —  to  pow 
erful  temptations.  Unable  to  marry,  the  chances  are,  that 
these  law-condemned  celibates  may  do  worse.  I  think  that 
those  members  of  your  bar  with  whom  the  procurement  of 
legal  separations  is  a  specialty  could  make  to  you  some 
startling  disclosures  on  this  subject. 

But,  be  this  as  it  may,  what  becomes  of  the  "  mutual  and 
solemn  vow  to  live  together  till  death  them  do  part "  ?  What 
becomes  of  the  dictionary  definitions  which  you  adduce  about 
being  "  united  for  life,"  and  about  "  affection  and  fidelity  till 
death  shall  separate  them  "  ?  Does  not  your  policy  of  "  sep 
aration  from  bed  and  board  "  as  effectually  extinguish  these, 
and  thus,  according  to  your  view,  as  completely  convert  Mar 
riage  into  a  concubinal  substitute,  as  my  remedy  of  Divorce  ? 
I  am,  my  dear  sir,  faithfully  yours, 

EGBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

NEW  YORK,  March  6,  1860. 


MR.   GREELEY    AGAIN.* 

To  THE  HON.  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN  OF  INDIANA  :  — 

DEAR  SIR  :  In  my  former  letter,  I  asserted,  and  I  think 
proved,  that 

I.  The  established,  express,  unequivocal  dictionary  meaning 
of  Marriage  is  union  for  life.  Whether  any  other  sort  of 
union  of  man  and  woman  be  or  be  not  more  rational,  more 
beneficent,  more  moral,  more  Christian,  than  this,  it  is  cer- 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  17,  1860. 


588  MISCELLANIES. 

tain  that  this  is   Marriage,   and  that  that   other  is   some 
thing  else. 

II.  That  this  is  what  we  who  are  legally  married  —  at  all 
events,  if  married  by  the  ministers  of  any  Christian  denomi 
nation  —  uniformly  covenant  to  do.     I  distinctly  remember 
that  my  marriage  covenant  was  "  for  better,  for  worse,"  and 
"  until  death  do  part."     I  presume  yours  was  the  same. 

III.  That  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  in  opposition  to  the  ideas  and 
usages  current  in  his  time,  alike  among  Jews  and  Gentiles, 
expressly  declared  Adultery  to  be  the  only  valid  reason  for 
dissolving  a  marriage. 

IV.  That  the  nature  and  inherent  reason  of  Marriage  in 
exorably  demand  that  it  be  indissoluble  except  for  that  one 
crime  which  destroys  its  essential  condition.     In  other  words, 
no  marriage  can  be  innocently  dissolved ;  but  the  husband  or 
wife  may  be  released  from  the  engagement  upon  proof  of  the 
utter  and  flagrant  violation  of  its  essential  condition  by  the 
other  party. 

And  now,  allow  me  to  say  that  I  do  not  see  that  your 
second  letter  successfully  assails  any  of  these  positions.  You 
do  not,  and  cannot,  deny  that  our  standard  dictionaries  define 
Marriage  as  I  do,  and  deny  the  name  to  any  temporary  ar 
rangement  ;  you  do  not  deny  that  I  have  truly  stated  Christ's 
doctrine  on  the  subject  (whereof  the  Christian  ceremonial  of 
Marriage,  whether  in  the  Catholic  or  Protestant  Churches,  is 
a  standing  evidence) ;  and  I  am  willing  to  let  your  criticism 
on  Christ's  statement  pass  without  comment.  So  with  regard 
to  Moses  :  I  am  content  to  leave  Moses's  law  of  divorce  to  the 
brief  but  pungent  commentary  of  Jesus,  and  his  unquestion 
ably  correct  averment  that  "  from  the  beginning,  it  was  not  so." 

But  you  say  that,  if  my  position  is  sound,  I  make  "a  sweep 
ing  assertion"  against  the  validity  of  the  marriages  now 
existing  in  Indiana  and  other  divorcing  States.  0  no,  sir ! 
Nine  tenths  of  the  people  in  those  States  —  I  trust,  ninety- 
nine  hundredths  —  were  married  by  Christian  ministers,  under 
the  law  of  Christ.  They  solemnly  covenanted  to  remain 
faithful  until  death,  and  they  are  fulfilling  that  promise. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  589 

Your  easy-divorce  laws  are  nothing  to  them ;  their  conscience 
and  their  lives  have  no  part  in  those  laws.  Your  State  might 
decree  that  any  couple  may  divorce  themselves  at  pleasure, 
and  still  those  who  regard  Jesus  as  their  Divine  Master  and 
Teacher,  would  hold  fast  to  his  Word,  and  live  according  to 
a  "  higher  law  "  than  that  revised  and  relaxed  by  you. 

I  dissent  entirely  from  your  dictum  that  the  words  of  Jesus 
relative  to  Marriage  and  Divorce  may  have  been  intended  to 
have  a  local  and  temporary  application.  On  the  contrary,  I 
believe  he,  unlike  Moses,  promulgated  the  eternal  and  univer 
sal  law,  founded,  not  in  accommodation  to  special  circum 
stances,  but  in  the  essential  nature  of  God  and  man.  I  admit 
that  he  may  sometimes  have  withheld  the  truth  that  he 
deemed  his  auditors  unable  to  comprehend  and  accept,  but  I 
insist  that  what  he  did  set  forth  was  the  absolute,  unchanging 
fact.  But  I  did  not  cite  him  to  overbear  reason  by  authority, 
but  because  you  referred  first  to  Christianity  and  the  will  of 
God,  and  because  I  believe  what  he  said  respecting  Marriage 
to  be  the  very  truth.  Can  you  seriously  imagine  that  your 
personal  exegesis  on  his  words  should  outweigh  the  uniform 
tradition  and  practice  of  all  Christendom  ? 

You  understand,  I  presume,  that  I  hold  to  separations 
"from  bed  and  board"-  — as  the  laws  of  this  State  allow  them 
-  only  in  cases  where  the  party  thus  separated  is  in  danger 
of  bodily  harm  from  the  ferocity  of  an  insane,  intemperate, 
or  otherwise  brutalized,  infuriated  husband  or  wife.  I  do  not 
admit  that  even  such  peril  can  release  one  from  the  vow  of 
continence,  which  is  the  vital  condition  of  Marriage.  It  may 
possibly  be  that  there  is  "  temptation  "  involved  in  the  posi 
tion  of  one  thus  legally  separated ;  but  I  judge  this  evil  far 
less  than  that  which  must  result  from  the  easy  dissolution  of 
Marriage. 

For  here  is  the  vital  truth  that  your  theory  overlooks  :  The 
Divine  end  of  Marriage  is  parentage,  or  the  perpetuation  and 
increase  of  the  Human  Eace.     To  this  end,  it  is  indispensable 
—  at  least,  eminently  desirable  —  that  each  child  should  en 
joy  protection,  nurture,  sustenance,  at  the  hands  of  a  mother 


590  MISCELLANIES. 

not  only,  but  of  a  father  also.  In  other  words,  the  parents 
should  be  so  attached,  so  devoted  to  each  other,  that  they  shall 
be  practically  separable  but  by  death.  Creatures  of  appetite, 
fools  of  temptation,  lovers  of  change,  as  men  are,  there  is  but 
one  talisman  potent  to  distinguish  between  genuine  affection 
and  its  meretricious  counterfeit;  and  that  is  the  solemn, 
searching  question,  "  Do  you  know  this  woman  so  thoroughly, 
and  love  her  so  profoundly,  that  you  can  assuredly  promise 
that  you  will  forsake  all  others  and  cleave  to  her  only  until 
death  ? "  If  you  can,  your  union  is  one  that  God  has  hal 
lowed,  and  man  may  honor  and  approve ;  but,  if  not,  wait  till 
you  can  thus  pledge  yourself  to  some  one  irrevocably,  invok 
ing  heaven  and  earth  to  witness  your  truth.  If  you  rush 
into  a  union  with  one  whom  you  do  not  thus  know  and  love, 
and  who  does  not  thus  know  and  love  you,  yours  is  the  crime, 
the  shame ;  yours  be  the  life-long  penalty.  I  do  not  think, 
as  men  and  women  actually  are,  this  law  can  be  improved ; 
when  we  reach  the  spirit- world,  I  presume  we  shall  find  a 
Divine  law  adapted  to  its  requirements,  and  to  our  moral 
condition.  Here,  I  am  satisfied  with  that  set  forth  by  Jesus 
Christ.  And,  while  I  admit  that  individual  cases  of  hardship 
arise  under  this  law,  I  hold  that  there  is  seldom  an  unhappy 
marriage  that  was  not  originally  an  unworthy  one,  —  hasty 
and  heedless,  if  not  positively  vicious.  And,  if  people  will 
transgress,  God  can  scarcely  save  them  from  consequent  suf 
fering  ;  and  I  do  not  think  you  or  I  can. 

Yours, 

HORACE  GREELEY. 

NEW  YORK,  March  11,  1860. 


A    CORRECTION.* 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  N.  Y.  TRIBUNE  :  — 

SIR:  Your  paper  of  yesterday,  12th  hist.,  contains  a  letter 
bearing  the  signature  of  Eobert  Dale  Owen.     After  eulogizing 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  12,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  591 

the  doctrine  of  the  New  Testament,  which  is  carried  out  in 
the  law  of  the  State  of  New  York,  and  which  only  permits 
divorce  in  case  of  adultery,  the  writer  falls  foul  of  that  "  semi- 
barbarous"  people,  the  Jews,  and  their  legislator,  Moses, 
whose  law  of  divorce  Mr.  K.  D.  Owen  professes  to  quote  ver 
batim  from  Deuteronomy  xxiv.  1 :  "  When  a  man  hath  taken 
a  wife  and  married  her,  and  it  come  to  pass  that  she  find  no 
favor  in  his  eyes,  then  let  him  write  her  a  bill  of  divorcement 
and  give  it  in  her  hand,  and  send  her  out  of  his  house." 
Now,  I  would  respectfully  ask  of  Mr.  K.  D.  Owen,  how  is  it, 
that,  in  transcribing  these  words  out  of  the  Bible,  he  has  left 
out  and  altogether  omitted  the  words  "  because  he  hath  found 
some  uncleanness  in  her,"  which  form  an  integral  part  of 
the  first  verse  in  the  twenty-fourth  chapter  of  Deuteronomy, 
after  the  sentence,  "find  no  favor 'in  his  eyes,"  and  before  the 
sentence,  "  then  let  him  write,"  &c. 

These  words  omitted  by  Mr.  R.  D.  Owen  form  the  gist  of 
the  whole  law  on  Divorce.  For  the  Hebrew  word  ervah, 
which  the  English  version  here  renders  "uncleanness,"  is 
throughout  sacred  Scripture  invariably  used  to  express  illicit 
sexual  intercourse.  Vide  Leviticus  xviii.,  where  the  word 
occurs  several  times,  and  is  rendered  "  nakedness." 

Into  the  argument  on  Divorce  it  is  not  my  intention  to  en 
ter  ;  and,  as  it  is  not  parliamentary  to  impute  motives,  I  must 
not  say  that  Mr.  R.  Owen  intentionally  mutilated  the  text  he 
quotes,  leaving  out  words  which  fully  prove  that  this  Word 
of  God,  through  Moses  His  servant,  so  cavalierly,  not  to  say 
unfairly,  treated  by  Mr.  R.  D.  Owen,  is  identical  with  the 
law  of  our  State,  which  he  praises  as  derived  from  the  New 
Testament.  But  I  should  like  to  know,  and  I  ask  you,  Mr. 
Editor,  what  degree  of  confidence  and  consideration  can  be 
due  to  the  assertions  and  opinions  of  a  disputant  who,  pro 
fessing  to  quote  verbatim  from  a  book  so  well  known  as  the 
Bible,  "somehow"  contrives  to  omit  the  pith  and  marrow 
of  a  law  against  which  he  directs  his  assault  ? 

Yours, 

A  SEMI-BARBAROUS  RABBI. 


592  MISCELLANIES. 


REPLY    BY    MR.   OWEN.* 

To  "  A  SEMI-BARBAROUS  RABBI  "  :  — 

SIR  :  I  omitted  the  words  in  the  text  from  Deuteronomy, 
to  which  in  to-day's  Tribune  you  refer,  intentionally.  If 
they  were  at  all  essential  to  the  true  understanding  of  the 
text,  you  are  right  in  taking  me  severely  to  task  for  their 
omission.  A  man  who  would  garble  a  quotation  from  any 
book  to  suit  his  purpose  ought  to  forfeit  all  claim  to  public 
confidence. 

I  omitted  them  from  what  you  may  term  a  weakness,  or 
may  pronounce  to  be  mere  fastidiousness.  My  studies  never 
having  gone  beyond  Greek,  the  Old  Testament,  in  its  original 
tongue,  is  a  sealed  book  to  me.  The  expression,  "  because  he 
hath  found  some  uncleanness  in  her,"  conveyed  to  my  mind 
no  idea  except  as  a  phrase,  couched  in  terms  less  veiled  than 
modern  usage  is  wont  to  employ,  to  mean  disgust  produced 
by  some  personal  habit  or  idiosyncrasy.  If  in  this  I  was  not 
mistaken,  the  words  are  clearly  non-essential ;  and  I  might 
innocently  consult  my  feelings  by  omitting  them  in  the 
columns  of  a  daily  paper. 

But  if,  as  you  assert,  the  Hebrew  word  rendered  "  unclean- 
ness  "  means  "  adultery,"  the  omission  was  a  grave  one,  even 
if  not  wilfully  committed. 

Does  it  mean  adultery  ?  If,  without  presumption,  one  who 
has  never  cultivated  those  roots  of  which  that  impudent  fellow 
who  indited  Hudibras  declared  that  they  "flourish  most  on 
barren  ground  "  may  venture  to  argue  the  point  with  a  Eabbi, 
I  ask  leave  to  take  issue  as  to  this  interpretation.  The  sub 
ject,  indeed,  is  a  disagreeable  one ;  but,  in  self-defence,  I  can 
not  now  choose  but  follow  whither  you  lead  ;  namely,  to  the 
chapter  cited  by  you,  Leviticus  xviii.,  where,  as  you  inform 
us,  the  same  word  rendered  "  uncleanness  "  in  Deuteronomy 
occurs  several  times,  and  is  translated  "  nakedness."  The 
first  verse  in  which  this  happens  reads  thus :  "  The  nakedness 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  19,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  593 

of  thy  father  and  the  nakedness  of  thy  mother  thou  shalt  not 
uncover."  If,  as  you  allege,  the  word  ervah,  here  translated 
"  nakedness,"  is  "  throughout  Sacred  Scripture  invariably  used 
to  express  illicit  sexual  intercourse,"  or,  as  in  a  wife's  case  it 
would  be,  adultery ;  and  if  in  the  above  text  we  substitute 
the  one  word  for  the  other  (as,  if  you  are  right,  we  may 
properly  do),  we  shall  have  a  text  which  you  may  compre 
hend,  but  which,  to  my  obtuser  perceptions,  becomes  wholly 
unintelligible. 

I,  in  what  your  learning  may  set  down  as  my  simplicity, 
have  always  interpreted  the  text  in  question  as  referring  to 
that  offence  which  Shem  and  Japheth  avoided,  and  for  which 
Canaan  (Genesis  ix.  25)  was  cursed. 

The  word  "  uncleanness "  does,  indeed,  in  another  text 
(Numbers  v.  19),  mean  adultery  ;  but,  to  give  it  that  meaning, 
other  denning  words  are  expressly  added.  The  priest,  in  that 
text,  thus  addresses  the  woman  suspected  of  infidelity,  "  If  no 
man  have  lain  with  thee,  and  if  thou  hast  not  gone  aside  to 
uncleanness  with  another  instead  of  thy  husband,  be  thou  free," 
&c.  Even  in  this  text,  however,  if  we  were  to  attempt  to 
substitute  "  adultery  "  for  "  uncleanness,"  we  should  not  only 
have  flagrant  tautology,  but  a  phrase  that  would  seem  to 
favor  the  idea  that  a  wife  might  commit  adultery  with  her 
husband  as  well  as  with  other  men  ;  a  thing,  I  must  confess, 
I  never  before  heard  of. 

But,  independently  of  all  this,  the  very  words  of  the 
text  seem  to  preclude  your  reading.  Those  words  are : 
"  If  it  come  to  pass  that  she  (the  wife)  find  no  favor 
in  his  eyes  because  of  some  uncleanness,"  &c.  Now,  a 
wife  may  be  said  to  "  find  no  favor  "  in  a  husband's  eyes, 
if  her  person  or  her  character  become  disagreeable  to  him ; 
but  who  would  ever  select  such  a  phrase  for  a  graver  occa 
sion  ?  What  would  you  think  of  saying,  "  Mrs.  Smith  found 
no  favor  in  Mr.  Smith's  eyes,  because  of  some  acts  of  adul 
tery"? 

Finally,  a  difficulty  remains  which,  in  my  eyes,  as  in  the 
eyes  of  all  Christians  it  must  be,  is  insuperable  ;  though  "  A 
38 


594  MISCELLANIES. 

Semi-Barbarous  Rabbi/'  perhaps,  may  get  over  it.     Jesus  did 
not  interpret  the  text  as  you  do. 

Your  assertion  is,  that  Moses'  law  "  is  identical  with  the 
law  of  your  State  "  (New  York) ;  that  is  to  say,  that  it  allowed 
Divorce  for  no  other  cause  except  adultery.  If  that  was  so, 
why,  I  pray  you,  did  Jesus  say :  "  Moses,  because  of  the 
hardness  of  your  hearts,  suffered  you  to  put  away  your 
wives  "  ?  And  why  did  he  add  :  "  But  in  the  beginning  it 
was  not  so ;  and  I  say  unto  you  :  Whosoever  shall  put  away 
his  wife,  except  it  be  for  fornication,  and  shall  marry  another, 
committeth  adultery  "  ?  You  make  Moses'  law  and  Jesus'  law 
identical.  Yet  here  we  find  Jesus  discarding  the  one  as  a 
permission  granted  only  because  of  the  old  Hebrews'  hard 
hearts,  and  substituting  the  other.  But  was  there  nothing  to 
discard  ?  Were  the  law  discarded  and  the  substitute  incul 
cated  one  and  the  same  ?  That,  as  every  reasonable  man 
must  see,  is  a  sheer  impossibility.  For  we  cannot  imagine 
Jesus'  words  to  be  meaningless,  nor  conclude  that  he  was 
trifling  with  his  audience,  and  recommending,  for  their  adop 
tion,  the  self-same  thing  he  condemned. 

We  know,  as  well  as  we  can  know  any  historical  fact,  that, 
at  the  time  when  we  are  told  that  Jesus  declared  adultery  to 
be  the  only  valid  cause  for  divorce,  that  declaration  was,  as 
Mr.  Greeley,  in  his  last  letter,  reminds  us,  "  in  opposition  to 
the  laws  and  usages  alike  among  Jews  and  Gentiles." 

I  am  not  well  informed  as  to  how  far  Rabbis  usually  regard 
the  words  or  the  opinions  of  Jesus  as  authoritative.  For  my 
self,  if  I  am  in  error,  —  if  the  ancient  Jews,  as  you  allege, 
were  not  permitted  to  divorce  their  wives  "  except  it  be  for 
fornication,"  and  if,  in  consequence,  there  was,  in  Christ's  day, 
nothing  to  reform  in  the  Jewish  divorce  law,  —  it  is  enough 
for  me  to  know  that,  in  adhering  (as,  after  a  careful  survey  of 
the  whole  ground,  I  do)  to  the  opposite  opinion,  I  am  but 
adopting  the  views  and  sharing  the  interpretation  put  forth 
by  the  Author  of  the  Christian  religion. 

ROBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

NEW  YORK,  Saturday,  March  17,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  595 

COMMENT  BY  MR.  GREELEY. 

ALL  this  strikes  us  as  very  absurd,  and  based  on  an  unac 
countable  lack  of  perception.  The  fundamental  idea  of  the 
Mosaic  law  is  personal  and  perfect  purity.  Moses,  therefore, 
permitted  the  husband  who  had  been  deceived  as  to  the  chas 
tity,  prior  to  marriage,  of  his  wife,  to  put  her  away.  This 
Jesus  disallowed,  as  a  temporary  or  local  permission,  based  on 
grounds  peculiar  to  the  Hebrew  economy,  reestablishing  in 
its  stead  the  law  as  it  was  "from  the  beginning,"  that  only 
incontinence,  after  marriage,  can  afford  a  valid  reason  for 
divorce. 


MR.   OWEN    IN    RESPONSE.* 

THE    WORD    "ERVAH." 
To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  N.  Y.  TRIBUNE  :  — 

SIR  :  Unwilling  to  rest  under  the  imputation  cast  on  me 
by  you  in  to-day's  "  Tribune,"  namely,  that  my  views  in  reply 
to  a  "Semi-Barbarous  Kabbi"  are  "very  absurd,"  and  are 
"based  on  an  unaccountable  lack  of  perception,"  I  have 
looked  a  little  more  closely  into  the  philology  of  the  question, 
and  beg  leave  here  to  present  to  you  the  result. 

Gesenius,  than  whom,  you  are  aware,  there  is  no  better  au 
thority,  in  his  Hebrew  Lexicon,  translates  ERVAH,  turpitudo, 
fosditas;  and  referring  specially  to  the  bill-of-divorcement 
text  (Deuteronomy  xxiv.  1),  he  renders  it  "  Macula  aliqua  in 
•muliere  reperta" ;  that  is,  "a  blemish  (or  spot)  found  in  the 
woman."  You  can  consult  this  Lexicon  in  the  Astor  Library. 

In  Luther's  Translation  of  the  Bible  (to  be  found  in  the 
same  Library),  at  the  text  above  referred  to,  that  reformer,  in 
explaining  the  word  "  uncleanness,"  parenthesises  thus :  (urn 
etwas  das  ihm  misfcillt,  es  sey  an  ihrem  Leibe  oder  Gebdrden 
oder  Sitten,  die  sick  dber  sonst  zuchtig  verhdllt ;)  .which,  if 
you-  are  familiar  with  German,  you  know  to  mean  :  ("  in  re- 
*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  24,  1860. 


596  MISCELLANIES. 

gard  to  something  which  displeases  him,  either  in  her  person 
or  in  her  demeanor,  or  in  her  conduct,  without  imputation, 
however,  on  her  chastity.")  The  word  zuclitig  means  strictly, 
chaste,  modest.  One  could  hardly  find  anything  more  in  ac 
cordance  with  my  interpretation  than  this. 

Again,  the  learned  Ewald  (in  his  "  Geschichte  des  Volks 
Israel,"  Vol.  II.  of  Anhang,  page  185),  commenting  on  the 
Jewish  bill  of  divorcement,  says  :  Und  sicker  enthielte  ein 
solcher  Brief  keinen  weitern  Tadel  der  Frau  als  ware  er  ein 
Klagebrief  gewesen ;  sondern  diente  der  Frau  eher  als  ein 
Zeiujniss  dass  Hirer  Wiederheirath  niclits  im  Wege  stehe : 
that  is,  "  And  such  a  document  certainly  imputed  no  further 
blame  to  the  wife  than  if  it  had  been  a  mere  letter  of  com 
plaint  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  rather  served  as  a  certificate  in 
her  hands,  in  proof  that  there  was  no  obstacle  to  a  second 
marriage." 

I  think  you  will  no  longer  deny  that,  if  my  views  are 
"  very  absurd,"  they  are  at  least  sustained  by  the  best  He 
brew  Lexicon  of  the  day,  by  a  writer  of  the  highest  authority 
on  Hebrew  history,  and,  finally,  that  they  are  indorsed, 
beyond  all  possible  doubt,  by  the  Great  Eeformer  himself. 
These  learned  men  must  all  have  shared  my  "  unaccountable 
lack  of  perception." 

Whence  you  disinterred  your  idea  that  incontinence  in  the 
wife  prior  to  marriage  was  the  Mosaic  ground  of  permission 
to  put  her  away  I  have  no  idea  whatever.  Certainly  not 
from  the  Old  Testament,  so  far  as  I  am  acquainted  with  its 
pages.  As  I  read  there,  incontinence  before  marriage,  unless 
disproved  (Deuteronomy  xxii.  20,  21),  was,  according  to  the' 
Mosaic  law,  punishable,  not  by  a  bill  of  divorcement,  but  by 
a  cruel  death. 

Yours, 

EGBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

NEW  YORK,  Monday,  March  19,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  597 


MR.   OWEN    RESUMES.* 
DIVORCE. 

To  THE  HON.  HORACE  GREELEY  :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  You  derive  your  arguments  against  Divorce 
from  two  sources : 

1.  From  Scripture. 

2.  From  the  morality  of  the  case. 

I.  If  you  regard  the  Old  Testament  as  a  portion  of  the 
Word  of  God,  you  must  admit  that  the  Jewish  bill-of-divorce- 
ment  law  was  framed,  not  by  a  fallible  lawgiver,  but  by  the 
Deity  himself,  Moses  being  only  the  medium  of  its  promulga 
tion. 

If  you  accept  the  authority  of  Gesenius,  of  Ewald,  and  of 
Luther,  you  must  further  concede  to  me  that  that  bill-of- 
divorcement  law  permitted  a  husband  to  put  away  a  faithful 
wife  in  any  case  in  which  she  became  personally  disagreeable, 
or  in  her  deportment  obnoxious  to  him,  and  that  he  was  sole 
judge  whether  she  found  favor  in  his  eyes  or  not. 

These  premises  conceded,  it  follows,  that,  upwards  of  three 
thousand  years  ago,  God  sanctioned  a  law  which  permitted  a 
husband  to  put  away  his  wife  when  she  displeased  him,  by 
means  of  a  simple  bill  of  divorcement,  drawn  up  by  the  hus 
band  himself. 

The  New  Testament  informs  us,  and  you  remind  us,  that 
Jesus,  fourteen  centuries  later,  disallowed  that  law.  But  he 
did  not  condemn  it  as  a  law  which  ought  never  to  have  ex 
isted;  he  intimates  that  it  was  rendered  necessary  by  the 
"  hard  hearts  "  of  those  for  whose  guidance  it  was  framed. 

Then  the  law  of  God,  enacted  thirty-two  centuries  ago,  was 
declared  by  Jesus,  eighteen  centuries  ago,  to  be  no  longer 
adapted  to  the  state  of  human  society. 

What  follows  ?     That  there  is  no  positive  good  or  evil,  — 
no  absolute  virtue  or  vice  ?     Far  from  it.     There  are  prin 
ciples  permanent  as  the  everlasting  hills,  immutable  as  the 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  March  28,  1860. 


598  MISCELLANIES. 

laws  that  hold  the  planets  to  their  course ;  principles  that 
depend  not  on  times  arid  seasons,  that  are  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever.  Such,  to  select  an  eminent  example,  is 
the  declaration,  "  Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law."  It  was 
true  from  the  creation ;  it  will  be  true  until  time  shall  be  no 
more. 

But  the  details  of  a  law  are  one  thing,  and  a  great,  eternal 
principle  is  another.  Laws  properly  change  as  the  world 
changes.  But  the  master  principles  underlying  laws  —  the 
"  laws  of  the  laws,"  to  adopt  Bacon's  phrase  —  endure  while 
the  world  lasts. 

Beyond  the  general  rule,  however,  we  have,  in  this  par 
ticular  case,  the  direct  authority  of  Jesus  for  it,  that  a  divorce 
law  adapted  to  one  age  may  cease  to  be  suitable  in  another. 

But,  if  the  details  of  a  Divine  law  three  thousand  years  old 
were  properly  rejected  in  a  later  stage  of  society,  is  it  not 
certain  that  the  same  may  be  true  in  our  age  of  other  details 
put  forth  by  Jesus  as  suitable  for  the  Jews  of  his  day  ?  for 
men  so  low  in  the  social  scale  that  they  found  in  his  teach 
ings  nothing  but  blasphemy,  and  rewarded  them  by  mockings 
and  scourgings,  and  a  death  of  torture  on  the  cross  ? 

It  follows,  past  all  denial,  that  while,  as  Christians,  we 
should  be  guided  by  the  great  principles  taught  by  the  Author 
of  our  religion,  we  are  not  bound  by  the  details  of  a  law 
adapted  for  Judea  in  the  days  of  Herod  the  King ;  provided 
our  moral  sense,  moulded  and  quickened  by  Christian  study, 
leads  us  to  the  conclusion  that  we  —  less  hard  of  heart  than 
those  who  cried  out,  "  Crucify  him  ! "  -  —  can  bear  other  laws 
and  greater  liberty  than  they. 

And  thus,  at  last,  we  are  thrown  back,  for  guidance,  to  the 
second  source  whence  your  arguments  are  derived. 

II.  In  other  words  :  What  is  the  true  morality  of  the  case  ? 

"  The  Divine  end  of  Marriage,"  you  say,  "  is  the  perpetua 
tion  and  increase  of  the  human  race." 

Has  civilization,  in  our  day,  reached  no  further  than  this  ? 
Do  we  find  in  the  holiest  of  human  relations  no  higher,  nobler 
object  —  no  end  more  divine  —  than  the  operation  of  that 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  599 

instinct  (common  to  man  with  the  lower  races)  which  peoples 
the  earth  ?  God  has,  indeed,  ordained  that,  incidental  to 
Marriage,  and  inseparable  from  it,  shall  be  Eeproduction.  If, 
in  any  sense,  it  be  true  that  this  is  tlie  divine  end  of  human 
marriage,  it  must  be  in  the  same  sense  which  applies  when 
the  stag  seeks  his  partner,  or  the  dove  submits  to  her  mate. 
But,  just  in  proportion  as  man  is  nobler  than  the  bird  of  the 
air  or  the  beast  of  the  field,  is  his  marriage  removed  to  infinite 
distance  above  theirs.  Woe  to  that  bride,  standing  in  her 
white  robes  before  the  altar,  who  is  thought  of,  by  the  one  at 
her  side,  only  as  the  future  bearer  of  his  children  !  Woe  to 
her,  if  she  has  not  chosen  a  spouse  whose  heart  is  swelled 
with  aspirations  that  overmaster  the  sensual ;  in  whose  soul 
there  burns  not  a  light  pure  enough  and  bright  enough  to 
quench,  in  such  a  moment  as  that,  the  lurid  flames  of  desire  ? 

It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  beneficent  arrangements 
which  mark  the  Divine  economy,  that  an  institution  —  a 
physical  incident  of  which  is  the  propagation  of  the  race  — 
should,  in  its  higher  and  nobler  results,  be  the  means  of  calling 
forth  all  that  is  best  and  purest  in  the  inner  nature  of  man; 
love,  in  the  broadest  acceptation  of  that  much  profaned  word, 
—  love,  that  crushes  man's  innate  selfishness,  and  teaches 
him  the  great  lesson  that  the  best  happiness  is  to  be  found  in 
cares  for  another,  not  in  thoughts  for  himself;  love  that  is 
heightened,  indeed,  by  the  warmth  of  earthly  emotions,  but 
has  an  existence  above  and  apart  from  these ;  to  remain  when 
age  has  quenched  passion,  —  to  endure  beyond  the  term  of 
our  present  stage  of  existence. 

In  that  higher  phase  of  wedded  life  which  has  its  origin  in 
sentiments  and  aspirations  such  as  these,  not  in  the  results  of 
our  nature's  lower  instincts,  will  a  cultivated  mind,  in  its 
best  moments,  recognize  "  the  Divine  end  of  Marriage."  If, 
some  day,  released  from  the  daily  round  and  deafening  whirl 
of  politics,  you  give  to  your  better  instincts,  in  quiet,  fair 
scope  and  free  voice,  I  think  they  will  teach  you  this. 

Meanwhile,  we  are  here  at  issue.  You  have  one  con 
ception  of  the  Divine  end  of  Marriage,  I  another.  If  yours 


600  MISCELLANIES. 

be  the  correct  idea,  then  it  may  be  that  nothing  except  that 
which  casts  doubt  on  the  parentage  of  offspring  should  be 
valid  cause  for  the  dissolution  of  Marriage.  If,  on  the  con 
trary,  I  have  more  justly  interpreted  the  higher  purposes  of 
that  institution,  then  whatever  violates  these  defeats  the 
Divine  end  of  Marriage,  and  supplies  rightful  cause  why  the 
relation,  failing  in  its  true  intent,  should  be  discontinued.  It 
is  a  sound  principle  in  jurisprudence,  that,  with  the  termina 
tion  of  the  cause  for  a  law,  the  law  also  should  cease. 

I  do  not  merely  say,  in  cases  where  the  holiest  purposes  for 
which  God  ordained  Marriage  are  frustrated,  its  di vines t  ends 
defeated,  and  its  inmost  sanctuary  denied,  by  evil  passions, 
that  the  relation,  thus  outraged,  may  not  improperly  cease  :  I 
say  that,  for  the  sake  of  virtue  and  for  the  good  of  mankind, 
in  all  such  demoralizing  cases,  it  ought  to  cease.  Household 
strife  is  immorality ;  domestic  hatred  is  immorality  ;  heart 
less  selfishness  is  immorality;  inhuman  treatment  of  the 
weak  by  the  strong  is  terrible  immorality.  And  that  condi 
tion  of  things,  degenerate  from  a  noble  purpose,  which  fosters 
evils  such  as  these,  has  become  itself  immoral  and  demands 
abatement. 

Why,  in  its  vice-fostering  perversion,  should  a  life  of 
bickering  be  dragged  on,  till  death,  at  last,  brings  separation 
and  peace  ?  In  the  interests  of  the  children,  perhaps  ?  But 
is  that  the  atmosphere  in  which  their  young  lives  should  ex 
pand  ?  Or,  is  it  in  order  that  that  intangible  generality 
called  SOCIETY  may  be  propitiated  and  appeased  ?  But  how, 
I  beg  of  you,  can  the  true  interests  of  Society  be  subserved 
by  perpetuating  immorality  among  its  members  ?  What  sort 
of  Moloch  is  this  Society  that  demands  the  immolation  of  its 
own  offspring  ? 

What  further  objection  do  you  interpose  ?  In  substance, 
this,  —  that  men  and  women  about  to  marry,  exercising  de 
liberation  and  discrimination,  ought  never  to  select  ill ;  and 
that,  if  they  do,  "theirs  is  the  crime  and  the  shame,  and 
theirs  should  be  the  life-long  penalty." 

If  a  lawgiver,  directly  or  virtually,  demands  impossibilities, 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  601 

his  laws  will  fail  of  their  effect.  In  making  his  demands, 
then,  he  should  have  special  reference  to  the  powers  likely  to 
be  at  the  disposal  of  those  of  whom  these  demands  are  made. 
It  avails  nothing  to  say  that  a  thing  ought  to  be,  if,  as  a  gen 
eral  rule,  it  cannot  be. 

But  of  all  requirements,  the  most  arduous — arduous 
even  when  mature  thought  has  brought  wisdom,  and  when 
age  has  conferred  experience  —  is  the  decision  whether  a 
being,  loved  now,  is  the  one  of  all  others,  intellectually, 
morally,  physically,  to  whom,  in  a  true  home,  we  can  impart 
permanent  happiness,  and  from  whom  we  are  capable  of  re 
ceiving  it.  Mortal  eyes,  even  the  wisest,  never  fully  pene 
trate  the  veil.  There  may  be  that  beyond  which  no  foresight 
could  anticipate. 

And,  if  such  be  the  case,  with  wisdom  and  experience  to 
guide,  what  shall  we  expect  from  unsuspicious  faith,  just  en 
tering  a  false  world,  serenely  ignorant  of  its  treacheries,  an 
utter  stranger  to  its  guile  ?  Will  its  goodness  be  its  protec 
tion  ?  The  reverse.  In  such  a  trial,  it  is  the  noblest  who 
are  the  most  exposed.  The  better  the  nature,  the  more  im 
minent  the  danger  it  encounters.  The  cold,  the  heartless,  the 
calculating,  have  fair  chance  of  escape ;  it  is  the  warm,  the 
trusting,  the  generous,  who  are  the  usual  sufferers.  What 
belief  so  blind  as  that  of  first,  pure,  young  affection  ?  What 
so  easily  cheated  as  a  fresh  and  faithful  and  innocent  heart  ? 

And  by  what  right,  according  to  what  principle,  I  pray  you, 
do  we  decide  that  there  is  one  mistake  that  is  never  to  be  cor 
rected  ;  one  error,  the  most  fatal  of  all,  which,  once  committed, 
we  shall  never  be  permitted  to  repair  ? 

A  "  life-long  penalty  "  you  would  inflict.  And  for  what 
heinous  offence  ?  Say  that  an  honest  mistake  were  a  crime  ; 
say  that  a  venial  error  were  a  career  of  shame.  Even  then, 
the  sentiment  would  be  Jewish,  not  Christian.  "  An  eye  for 
an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,"  was  the  rule  addressed  to  the 
hard  hearts.  Nowhere,  in  all  Christ's  teachings,  will  you  find 
the  like.  The  sin  of  your  brother,  sinning  seven  times,  you 
would  not  forgive ;  yet,  as  a  Christian,  you  ought  to  forgive 


602  MISCELLANIES. 

it,  even  to  seventy  times  seventy.  The  entrance  to  the 
father's  house  you  would  bar  against  the  returning  prodigal. 
His,  you  would  declare  to  him,  was  "  the  sin,  the  shame  "  ; 
his  should  be  "  the  life-long  penalty."  No  rejoicing  that  he 
was  dead  and  is  alive  again  ;  no  weeping  joy  that  he  was  lost 
and  is  found  ! 

Let  us  dismiss  abstractions,  and  stand  face  to  face  with  the 
realities  of  life.  The  time  may  come  when  men  and  women 
(the  eyesight  of  the  affections  opened)  shall  unfailingly  dis 
tinguish  and  choose  their  own  appropriate  mates.  I  have 
heard  enthusiasts  argue  that  it  will ;  and  that  there  is  a  future 
before  mankind,  even  on  earth,  in  which  conjugal  separation 
and  divorce  will  be  unknown  terms.  God  send  it !  But, 
meanwhile,  it  is  with  the  present,  and  its  errors,  and  its  evils, 
and  its  sufferings,  and  its  temptations  to  sin,  that  we  have  to 
deal.  Where  we  fail  to  cure,  it  is  our  duty  to  alleviate.  If 
we  cannot  make  all  the  married  virtuous  and  happy,  let  us 
do  what  we  can,  by  humane  laws  of  prevention,  to  relieve 
from  immoral  situations ;  and  thus  to  diminish  domestic 
misery  and  arrest  household  vice. 

I  thank  you,  my  dear  sir,  for  the  opportunity  afforded  to 
discuss  this  subject,  and  am 

Faithfully  yours, 

EGBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

NEW  YORK,  Tuesday,  March  20,  1860. 


MR.   OREELEY'S    REJOINDER.* 

To  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN  :  — 

DEAR  SIR  :  As  you  have  intimated  your  willingness  that 
our  discussion  should  here  close,  I  will  endeavor  to  introduce 
no  new  views  into  this  letter.  I  will  simply  sum  up  the  con 
troversy  as  it  stands. 

I.  I  have  hitherto  shown,  and  you  have  not  attempted  to 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  April  7,  1860. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  603 

disprove,  that  Marriage  is,  according  to  every  standard  dic 
tionary,  a  union  for  life,  indissoluble  at  the  pleasure  of  those 
married,  or  either  of  them.  I  have  insisted  that  you  have  no 
right  to  use  this  important  word  in  a  vitally  different  sense 
from  that  given  to  it  by  the  great  lexicographers.  What  you 
favor  may  be  ever  so  much  better  than  Marriage  (though  I 
believe  it  far  otherwise),  but  it  is  manifestly  not  the  same 
thing,  and  you  ought  to  give  it  a  distinctive  name.  When  I 
am  told  that  two  persons  are  married,  I  understand  that  they 
have  covenanted  to  live  together  as  husband  and  wife,  not 
during  pleasure,  but  during  life.  The  dictionaries,  the  Chris 
tian  religion,  the  general  consent  of  my  countrymen  and  of 
the  civilized  world,  fully  justify  me  in  that  conception. 
When,  therefore,  you  apply  the  term  Marriage  to  a  very  dif 
ferent  compact,  you  not  merely  use  words  unjustifiably,  but 
you  virtually  confess  the  badness  of  your  cause.  The  trades 
man  who  counterfeits  another's  trade-marks  virtually  con 
fesses  the  inferiority  of  his  own  wares.  I  protest,  then,  against 
your  using  the  word  Marriage  to  designate  any  other  union 
than  one  for  life.  If  A  and  B  have  agreed,  with  ever  so 
much  ceremony,  to  live  as  man  and  wife  until  one  or  both  of 
them  shall  see  fit  to  separate  and  form  new  relations,  they 
may  be  ever  so  wisely  and  rationally  paired,  but  they  are  not 
married.  I  made  this  point  as  strongly  before ;  our  readers 
will  judge  whether  you  have  or  have  not  met  it.  At  all 
events,  I  mind  the  Apostle's  injunction  to  "  Hold  fast  the 
form  of  sound  words."  We  who  stand  by  Marriage  as  Jesus 
Christ  established  and  Noah  Webster  defines  it,  have  a  right 
to  the  word  by  which  that  relation  has  ever  been  character 
ized.  What  you  advocate  is  quite  another  thing,  —  be 
pleased  to  give  it  a  distinguishing  name.  Then,  if  we  call 
our  compact  by  your  name,  the  public  will  understand  that 
we  admit  your  union  to  be  more  rational,  honorable,  enno 
bling,  than  ours.  At  all  events,  we  warn  you  off  our  premises, 
and  insist  that  you  shall  not  lay  your  eggs  in  our  nest.  If 
you  demand  liberty  to  form  temporary  unions,  we  will  con 
sider  that  demand ;  but  you  must  not  call  them  marriages ; 


604  MISCELLANIES. 

for,  though  they  may  be  the  same  to  you,  they  are  far  other 
wise  to  us. 

II.  As  to  the  religious  or  Christian  view  of  the  subject,  I 
rest  on  the  simple,  explicit  averment  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  as 
universally  understood  and  regarded  by  the  Christian  Church 
for  eighteen  centuries.     We  know  what  Hebrew,  Greek,  Ro 
man  laws  and  customs  respecting  the  marital  union  were  in 
Christ's  day ;  we  know  that  Jesus  propounded  and  his  disci 
ples  accepted  a  very  different  law,  —  that  of  Marriage  indis 
soluble  but  by  death,  or  by  that  crime  which  is  death  to  all 
the  sanctities  of  Marriage.     We  know  that  Orthodox  and 
Heretic,    Catholic  and  Protestant,  literal  and  liberal,   with 
barely  exceptions  enough  to  prove  the  rule,  have  understood 
the  Saviour's  doctrine  of  Marriage  throughout  the  Christian 
centuries   as   I  do  to-day.     That  this  Christian  doctrine  of 
Marriage  is  a  chief  reason  for  the  moral,  intellectual,  and 
even  material,  supremacy  of  Europe  over  Asia  in  our  day,  I 
do  most  firmly  believe ;  you  will  regard  it  as  you  think  fit. 
And,  as  to  Moses  and  his  law,  with  all  you  have  to  say  of 
them,  all  the  answer  that  seems  to  me  needed  is  contained  in 
the  few  words  of  Jesus  on  that  very  point :  "  Moses,  for  the 
hardness  of  your  hearts,"  permitted  easy  divorce ;  "  but  from 
the  beginning  it  was  not  so." 

III.  I  have  said  that  "  the  Divine  end  of  Marriage  is  the 
perpetuation  and  increase  of  the  human  race."     By  that  affir 
mation  I  abide.     Of  course,  I  did  not  say  that  Marriage  has 
no  other  end  than  this  ;  so  all  your  criticism  seems  to  me 
ludicrously  inapposite.     I  do  not  urge  that,  in  a  true  sexual 
union,  everything  else  but  the  production,  nurture,  and  well- 
being  of  children,  must  be  ignored.     I  do  insist  that  there 
must  be  nothing  incompatible  or  inconsistent  with  this.     If 
required  to  say  whether  the  union  of  this  man  with  this 
woman  is  true,  noble,  and  honorable,  or  sensual,  selfish,  and 
debasing,  I  must  ask,  "  Would  they  gladly  have  children  bom 
of  it  ?     Would    they   proudly   acknowledge    those    children 
before  the  world,  and  undertake  to  fulfil  toward  them  all  the 
duties  of  parents  ? " 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  605 

If  not,  their  union,  though  impelled  by  mutual  admiration, 
and  signalized  by  a  lava-flood  of  passion,  is  shameful  and  un- 
blest.  The  sexual  union  which  the  immediate  parties  prefer 
should  be  childless  has  no  rig] it  to  be  at  all. 

I  was  shocked  when  I  heard  an  apostle  of  your  faith  F 
some  years  since,  "  We  hold  that  the  parents  are  not 4 
sacrificed  to  the  children."     I  hold,  on  the  contrary,  th  r 
lives  of  true  parents  are  filled  with  acts  of  self-sacrho 
their  children,  —  that  their  lives  have  been  well  sives. 
have  given  to  the  world  offspring  nobler  than  t  be  so 
And,  while  I  admit  that  the  conduct  of  a  busbars  in  re- 
outrageous,  so  brutal,  as  to  justify  the  innoceupreheiids 
quiring  a  separation,  I  insist  that  one  who  trnjk  to  marry 
the  nature  and  purposes  of  Marriage  will  ?living.     I  do 
another  while  the  father  of  her  children  ije  eye  with  all 
not  think  she  could  look  those  childrenie  realizing  that 
a  mother's  conscious  purity  and  dignifyere  different  men. 
their  father  and  her  husband,  both  liv^  a]i  that  a  mother 
Nor  do  I  feel  that  she  could  be  to 
should  be  under  such  conditions.    ource  of  its  aberrations, 

IV.  The  vice  of  our  age,  the  mj  t^e  gravest  social  neces- 
is  a  morbid  Egotism,  which  ove^ua^  personal  ends.     Your 
sities  in  its  mad  pursuit  of  ij.    caiied  SOCIETY  "  is  direct- 
fling  at  that  "  intangible  geiij  clliefly  for  those  who,  having 
ly  in  point.     You  are  conceviciouslV)  seek  relief  from  their 
married  unfortunately,  if  f  to  prevent,  or  at  least  to  render 
bonds ;  I  am  anxious  r?^  gexual  unions  hereafter.     The 
infrequent,  immoral,  ar^  maybe  deplorable  ;  but  to  make 
miseries  of  the  unfitly  to  inyite  the  sensual  and  selfish  to 
divorce  easy  is  in  e£  of  MarriatTe  whenever  appetite  and 
profane   the   sanct  Here  are  a  man  and  a  woman  who 

temptation  may -  ^  ^  ^  ^  but  that  they  are  re- 
know  absolute^  »  other,s  appearance,  and  think 
ciprocally  pie  ^  mutufll  enjoyment,  -  so  they 
Marriage  wcr^  ship.  Next  year  -  perhaps  next 
month'  ^ave'tired  of  e'ach  other,  -  discovered  mcom- 


606  MISCELLANIES. 

patibilities  of  temper,  —  quarrelled,  —  in  short,  they  hate  each 
other,  as  they  very  well  may ;  so  they  are  divorced,  and  ready  to 
marry  again.  Gibbon  intimates  that,  under  the  Koman  liber 
ty  of  Divorce,  by  which  Rome  was  debauched  and  ultimately 
ruined,  a  woman  had  eight  husbands  within  five  years.  Mr. 
Owen,  whenever  you  shall  have  succeeded  in  appropriating 
our  word  Marriage  as  a  fig-leaf  for  this  sort  of  thing,  you  will 
cause  us  to  invent  or  appropriate  some  other  term  to  charac 
terize  what  we  mean  by  Marriage ;  and  then  you  will  very 
soon  drop  your  own  dishonored  designation  and  come  coveting 
ours  again.  So  please  leave  us  what  belongs  to  us,  and  choose 
a  new  term  for  your  arrangement  now. 

"  It  is  very  hard,"  said  a  culprit  to  the  judge  who  sentenced 
him,  "  that  I  should  be  so  severely  punished  for  merely  steal 
ing  a  horse."  "Man,"  replied  the  judge,  "you  are  not  so 
punished  for  merely  stealing  a  horse,  but  that  horses  may  not 
be  stolen."  The  distinction  seems  to  me  clear  and  vital.  The 
wedded  in  soul  may  know  each  other  if  they  will ;  it  is  im 
possible  that  others  should  certainly  know  them.  To  those 
who  are  thus  wedded,  the  covenant  to  "  take  each  other  for 
better,  for  worse,"  and  "  to  live  together  till  death  do  part," 
has  no  terrors ;  they  enter  upon  it  without  hesitation,  and 
fulfil  its  conditions  without  regret.  But  to  the  libertine,  the 
egotist,  the  selfish,  sensual  seeker  of  personal  and  present 
enjoyment  at  whatever  cost  to  others,  the  Indissolubility  of 
Marriage  is  an  obstacle,  a  restraint,  a  terror ;  and  God  forbid 
that  it  should  ever  cease  to  be !  Thousands  would  take  a 
wife  as  readily,  as  thoughtlessly,  as  heartlessly,  as  they  don  a 
new  coat  or  sport  a  new  cravat,  if  it  were  understood  that 
they  might  unmarry  themselves  whenever  satiety,  or  disgust, 
or  mutual  dislike,  should  prompt  to  that  step.  But  it  is  not 
so,  Mr.  Owen,  even  in  Indiana.  Men  and  women  are  mar 
ried,  even  in  Indiana,  "  for  better,  for  worse,"  and  under  solemn 
covenant  to  "  live  together  till  death  do  part " ;  and  they  can 
not  resort  to  Divorce,  even  there,  without  conscious  shame  or 
general  reprobation.  That  human  laws  may  be  everywhere 
conformed  to  the  Divine,  and  no  sexual  union  hallowed  by 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  607 

Church  or  State  but  that  union  for  life  which  alone  is  true 
Marriage,  is  the  ardent  hope  of 

Yours, 

HORACE  GREELEY. 

NEW  YORK,  March  31,  1860. 


MR.   OWEN'S    CLOSING    ARGUMENT.* 

To  THE  HON.  HORACE  GREELEY  :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  Imitating  your  precaution,  I  shall,  in  sum 
ming  up,  avoid  the  introduction  of  new  views ;  I  shall  also 
study  strictest  brevity.  Had  your  summing  up  fairly  pre 
sented  the  question  at  issue,  the  public  need  not  have  been 
troubled  with  mine. 

It  is  a  besetting  weakness  of  our  nature  to  imagine  itself 
unfailingly  right,  its  opinions  infallibly  true,  its  rules  of  action 
the  only  morality.  If,  in  a  discussion  of  principles,  we  yield 
to  this,  the  best  thing  is  to  close  it ;  because,  conducted  in 
such  a  spirit,  it  becomes  useless,  or  worse. 

The  sole  point  of  our  discussion,  and  that  which  might 
be  usefully,  if  dispassionately,  debated,  has  been  this :  You 
advocate  a  divorce  law  with  one  only  cause  of  divorce :  I 
think  it  conducive  to  public  morality  that  such  a  law  should 
admit  several  causes.  I  took  that  position,  and  I  took  no 
other.  I  indorsed  the  divorce  law  of  Indiana ;  nothing  more. 
But  how,  in  summing  up,  do  you  state  the  case  ?  In  sub 
stance,  thus :  Marriage  under  a  single-cause  divorce  law,  as 
in  New  York,  is  Marriage.  There  is  no  other  Marriage. 
What  goes  by  that  name,  under  a  divorce  law  admitting 
several  causes,  as  in  Connecticut  or  Indiana,  is  not  Marriage, 
but  concubinage.  If  those  who  are  united  under  such  laws 
call  themselves  married,  they  "  use  words  unjustifiably " ; 
they  "  virtually  confess  the  badness  of  their  cause "  ;  they 
are  as  "tradesmen  who  counterfeit  another's  trade-marks"; 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  April  21,  I860. 


608  MISCELLANIES. 

they  are  countenancing  the  Eoman  woman  who  had  "  eight 
husbands  within  five  years,"  and  appropriating  Mr.  Greeley's 
word  Marriage  "  as  a  fig-leaf  for  this  sort  of  thing."  They 
must  "  choose  a  new  term  for  their  arrangement."  Horace 
Greeley,  armed  with  Noah  Webster,  declares  to  them,  that 
"they  may  be  ever  so  wisely  and  rationally  paired,  but 
they  are  not  married,"  and  he  "protests  against  their  using 
the  word." 

The  law  of  Connecticut,  the  law  of  Indiana,  declares,  that 
Marriage,  contracted  under  a  divorce  law  admitting  several 
causes,  and  by  virtue  of  which  the  union  may,  in  certain 
contingencies,  terminate  before  death,  is  Marriage."  Horace 
Greeley  tells  them  it  is  "  quite  another  thing."  The  law  of 
Connecticut,  the  law  of  Indiana,  provides,  if  a  couple, 
legally  divorced,  contract  a  second  marriage,  such  second 
marriage  is  legal.  Horace  Greeley  insists  that  they  "  must 
not  call  that  Marriage  ;  for,  though  it  may  be  the  same  to 
them,  it  is  far  otherwise  to  him." 

Here  is  a  conflict.  The  Eevised  Codes  of  Connecticut  and 
Indiana  (and  of  a  dozen  other  States  beside)  declare  one 
thing;  Horace  Greeley  declares  the  opposite.  The  one  or 
the  other,  it  is  evident,  must  be  grievously  in  error. 

Popes,  from  the  Vatican,  have,  not  unfrequently,  assumed 
the  power,  as  to  certain  laws  enacted  by  duly  constituted 
legal  authority  in  various  Catholic  countries,  by  Papal  Bull 
to  override  and  annul  them.  But  in  our  country  we  con 
sider  the  law  supreme  ;  in  force,  and  to  be  acknowledged  and 
respected,  until  it  be  legally  repealed. 

This  is  not  all.  In  your  summing  up,  motives  are  imputed. 
Those  who  enact  or  approve  a  divorce  law  which  admits  more 
causes  than  one  are  told  that  "  they  are  concerned  chiefly  for 
those  who,  having  married  unfortunately,  if  not  viciously, 
seek  relief" ;  and  that  this  arises  from  a  "morbid  egotism,  the 
vice  of  our  age,  which  overrides  the  gravest  social  necessities 
in  its  mad  pursuit  of  individual,  personal  ends." 

Does  it  not  occur  to  you,  when  men  vote  for  or  sanc 
tion  reasonable  divorce  laws,  they  may  do  so  from  a  con- 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  609 

scientious  motive  ?  Does  it  not  occur  to  you,  that  when  an 
opponent  expresses  the  opinion,  "  in  cases  where  the  holiest 
purposes  for  which  God  ordained  Marriage  are  frustrated, 
and  its  inmost  sanctuary  denied  by  evil  passions,  it  ought 
for  the  sake  of  virtue  to  cease,"  —  that  he  may  be  sincere  in 
that  opinion  ?  Have  you  forgotten  that  there  is  One  only 
who  looks  into  the  heart  and  reads  its  motives  ;  and  that  no 
human  being  has  a  right,  setting  himself  up  as  judge  and 
ruler,  to  usurp  His  place  ? 

The  story  of  the  horse-thief  (told  that  he  was  punished  not 
merely  for  his  offence,  but  "  that  horses  may  not  be  stolen  "), 
if  it  has  any  bearing  on  the  subject  at  all,  has  an  unfair  one. 
Horse-stealing  is  a  crime.  To  take  it  for  granted  that  Divorce 
also  is  one  is  to  prejudge  the  whole  question  under  discus 
sion.  Again ;  if  the  meaning  be,  that  the  unhappily  married 
should  suffer,  not  merely  for  their  mistake,  but  that  divorces 
may  not  be  granted,  then  you  fall  into  the  same  error  as  the 
Jews,  when  they,  zealous  without  knowledge  for  their  Sab 
bath,  were  reminded  by  Jesus,  in  the  spirit  of  the  truest 
philosophy,  that  human  institutions  are  made  for  man,  not 
man  for  human  institutions. 

Others  may  have  argued  that  children  ought  to  be  sacri 
ficed  to  parents.  I  hold,  and  ever  have  held,  that  there  is  no 
duty  more  sacred  than  that  which  we  owe  to  those  to  whom 
we  impart  existence.  It  is  a  misfortune,  and  a  great  one,  that 
a  mother  should  look  her  children  in  the  eye,  and  think  that 
their  father,  then  living,  and  her  husband,  are  different  men. 
But  far  greater  is  the  misfortune  when  she  looks  upon  them 
with  the  bitter  consciousness  that  they  are  daily,  hourly,  learn 
ing  to  know  in  their  father  a  sot,  a  brute,  a  ruffian,  the  dese- 
crator  of  the  domestic  sanctuary  ;  far  greater  is  the  anguish  to 
feel  that  that  father  never  teaches  them  one  lesson  of  virtue, 
never  gives  them  one  useful  example,  except  it  be  such  as  the 
Helots  furnished  to  the  Spartan  youth  ;  a  terrible  beacon, 
warning  from  the  shame  and  the  folly  of  intemperance. 

If  you  conclude  that  divorce  laws  necessarily  cause  young 
people  to  marry  as  readily  and  heartlessly  as  they  don  a  fresh 
39 


610  MISCELLANIES. 

hat  or  sport  a  new  bonnet,  you  do  your  fellow-creatures  great 
injustice ;  and  a  few  years'  residence  in  Indiana  would  con 
vince  you  of  your  mistake.  You  might  be  reminded  of  what, 
even  at  our  age,  we  ought  not  to  have  forgotten,  —  what  man 
ner  of  thing,  namely,  youthful  affection  is  ;  how  undoubtingly 
it  believes,  how  wholly  it  trusts ;  how  little  it  calculates  laws 
or  troubles  itself  about  Divorce,  or  dreams  of  anything  except 
that  it  shall  always  love  as  it  loves  now ;  constancy  a  pleas 
ure  even  more  than  a  duty,  and  change  an  impossible  desire. 
We  often  err  in  ascribing  to  the  restraining  influence  of 
faulty  laws  that  which  is  due  to  the  faithful  impulses  of  our 
better  nature. 

You  remind  us,  on  Gibbon's  authority,  that  the  liberty  of 
Divorce  was  grossly  abused  in  debauched  Eome.  I  remind 
you  that  the  liberty  of  Eepublicanism  was  terribly  abused  in 
revolutionary  France.  But  it  would  be  a  poor  argument 
thence  to  conclude,  that,  in  this  country,  we  ought  to  forbid 
divorce  and  introduce  a  monarchy. 

The  moral  and  intellectual  supremacy  of  Europe  over  Asia 
you  ascribe  mainly  to  Christian  Marriage.  To  Christian 
Marriage,  as  opposed  to  Polygamy,  it  may  justly  be  thus  as 
cribed.  This  opinion  I  myself,  in  a  recent  work,  expressed : 
"  Under  the  system  of  Monogamy  alone  have  man's  physical 
powers  and  moral  attributes  ever  maintained  their  ascendency ; 
while  weakness  and  national  decadence  follow  in  the  train  of 
Polygamy,  whether  openly  carried  out,  as  in  Deseret  and 
Constantinople,  or  secretly  practised,  as  in  London  and  New 
York."* 

But  this  has  no  bearing  on  the  Divorce  question.  You 
will  not  assert  that  the  morals  were  better  before  the  Pteform- 
ation,  in  Catholic  countries  refusing  divorce,  than  they  were 
after  Luther's  time  in  Protestant  countries  permitting  it. 

Briefly  summing  up,  I  remind  you :  — 

1.  That  I  proved,  and  you  have  not  attempted  to  disprove, 
that,  according  to  the  Old  Testament,  God  promulgated,  more 
than  three  thousand  years  ago,  a  divorce  law  permitting  a 

*  Footfalls  on  the  Boundary  of  Another  World,  page  42. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  611 

husband  to  put  away  a  wife  who  found  no  favor  in  his  eyes  ; 
that  that  law  prevailed  among  His  chosen  people  from  the  time 
of  Moses  till  long  after  Joseph  and  Mary  were  united  subject 
to  its  provisions ;  and,  consequently,  that  if  Marriage,  deter- 
minable  by  Divorce,  be  no  Marriage,  there  was  not  a  married 
man  or  woman  among  the  Jews  for  fifteen  hundred  years. 

2.  I  have  shown,  and  you  have  admitted,  that  Jesus  dis 
allowed  that  law ;  not  denying  that  it  was  suitable  at  the  period 
it  was  given,  yet  declaring  that,  in  his  day,  it  ought  not  to 
prevail.     I  thence  deduced  the  inference,  not  assailed  by  you, 
that,  according  to  Scripture,  divorce  laws  may  properly  vary 
in  different  stages  of  civilization. 

3.  I  have  stated,  what  the  best  legal  authority  *  indorses, 
that,  of  the  various  kinds  of  Divorce,  none  has  been  found,  in 
practice,  so  immoral  as  that  variety,  unknown  to  our  Indiana 
law,  but  known  in  New  York  as  "separation  from  bed  and 
board."     You  think  it  "just  right."     Let  the  public  judge  be 
tween  us. 

4.  Eeferring  to  our  modern  state  of  civilization,  I  have 
argued,  that  the  present  age  is  prepared  to  see,  in  the  holiest 
of  human  relations,  purposes  far  higher,  infinitely  more  worthy 
the  epithet  divine,  than  the  mere  operation  of  the  instinct 
that  peoples  the  earth ;  that  Marriage  was  designed  to  be,  and 
should  be,  the  means  of  calling  out  all  that  is  best  and  purest 
in  the  inner  nature  of  man ;  and  that,  when  it  becomes  the 
daily  source  of  anger,  strife,  cruelty,  brutality,  it  defeats  God's 
purpose,  violates  the  Divine  economy,  becomes  itself  immoral, 
and  ought  to  cease.     You  dissent.     Again  be  the  public  the 
judge  in  the  premises. 

But  if  in  these  I  dissent,  there  are  other  points  as  to  which, 
in  concluding  this  controversy,  I  am  glad  to  agree  with  you. 
I  agree  that  every  State  has  a  direct  interest  in  the  private 
morals  of  its  members.  I  agree  that  whatever  policy  is 
found,  in  the  end,  best  calculated  to  promote  these  morals, 
ought  to  prevail.  I  agree  that  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  of 
earthly  blessings,  when  a  married  couple  dwell  together  in 

*  Bishop,  on  Marriage  and  Divorce,  §  277. 


612  MISCELLANIES. 

unity  till  death.  I  agree  that  no  light  or  transient  cause 
should  dissolve  the  conjugal  union.  I  agree  that  men  and 
women  ought  mutually  to  bear  and  forbear  "  while  evils  are 
sufferable,"  rather  than  to  right  themselves  by  resort  to  sepa 
ration  or  divorce.  I  agree,  further,  that  a  state  of  things 
which  leads  to  Divorce  is  to  be  deprecated  and  lamented,  and 
that  Divorce  itself  is  a  grave  misfortune.  And  I  but  add 
that,  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  immoralities,  pursuing 
invariably  the  same  course,  clearly  shows  that  a  union  has 
become  destructive  of  its  holy  ends,  then  it  ought  to  be  a 
right,  and  may  become  a  duty,  to  select  of  two  evils  the  lesser ; 
to  acquiesce  in  the  necessity  which  indicates  a  separation, 
and  legally  to  dissolve  the  bands  which  connect  the  ill-mated 
members  together. 

In  taking  leave  of  you,  suffer  me  to  correct  an  error  which 
crept  into  my  second  letter.  I  there  said  that  there  was  not 
a  State  of  the  Union  without  a  Divorce  law.  I  ought  to  have 
added,  "except  the  State  of  South  Carolina."  She  boasts 
that  "  within  her  limits,  a  divorce  has  not  been  granted  since 
the  Eevolution."  But  suspend  your  approbation  till  you 
learn,  as  Bishop  will  inform  you,  what  is  the  concomitant : 
"  Not  only  is  adultery  not  indictable  there  [in  South  Carolina], 
but  the  Legislature  has  found  it  necessary  to  regulate,  by 
statute,  how  large  a  proportion  a  married  man  may  give  of 
his  property  to  his  concubine."* 

You  will  admit  that  your  system  of  Indissoluble  Marriage 
is  dearly  paid  for,  under  such  a  state  of  things ;  nor  have  you 
been  in  the  habit  of  asserting  that  the  morals  of  divorce-deny 
ing  South  Carolina  are  superior  to  those  of  Connecticut  or 
Indian^. 

I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

Faithfully  yours, 

EGBERT  DALE  OWEN. 

PHILADELPHIA,  April  9,  1860. 

*  Marriage  and  Divorce,  $  285. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  613 


MR.  GREELEY  CLOSES    THE    DISCUSSION.* 

To  THE  HON.  ROBERT  DALE  OWEN  :  — 

SIR  :  I  understood  from  you  that  your  concluding  letter 
would  be  that  to  which  I  last  replied ;  but,  since  you  have 
deemed  it  necessary  to  write  again,  I  necessarily,  yet  willingly, 
rejoin.  As  before,  I  shall  confine  myself  strictly  to  the  points 
made  in  your  last. 

I.  You  seem  to  complain  that  I  consider  my  side  of  the 
question  at  issue  the  side  of  Morality  and  Eight.     But,  if  I 
did  not,  why  should  I  so  earnestly  uphold  it  ?     Do  I  com 
plain  of  your  holding  your  own  side  in  similar  regard  ?     As 
suredly,  I  cannot  change  my  convictions,  and  should  not  be 
required  to  conceal  them.     Indeed,  since  you  admit  that  my 
conviction   is   grounded   in  a   "besetting   weakness   of  our 
nature,"  you  surely  cannot  regard  it  with  surprise,  any  more 
than  I  can  deem  it  a  reason  for  closing  our  discussion  ;  though 
I  have  at  all  times  since  you  began  it  been  willing  to  close  it. 

II.  You  think  the  difference  between  us  to  be  simply  this : 
I  allow  Divorce  for  a  single  cause  (Adultery),  you  for  several 
causes ;   and  you  would  thus  reduce  it,  from  a  question  of 
principle,  to  one  of  details.     But  you  cannot  deny  that  my 
one  ground  of  Divorce  is  that  expressly  affirmed  to  be  such 
by  Jesus  Christ,  to  the  exclusion  and  negation  of  all  others. 
Nor  can  you  fail  to  see  that  if,  as  I  hold,  the  paramount  (not 
sole)  Divine  end  of  Marriage  is  Parentage,  or  the  perpetua 
tion  and  increase,  under  fit  auspices,  of  the  Human  Eace, 
then  that  crime  which  vitiates  and  confuses  parentage  may 
logically  be  deemed  the  sole  sufficient  reason  for  annulling  a 
marriage.     To  my  mind,  therefore,  our  difference  is  clearly 
and  emphatically  one  of  principle.     I  do  not  hold  that  even 
Adultery  justifies  the  dissolution  of  a  marriage  so  far  as  the 
culpable  party  is  concerned.     It  simply  authorizes,  but  by  no 
means  requires,  the  faithful,  exemplary  husband  or  wife  to 
procure  a  legal  adjudication  and  declaration  of  the  fact  that 

*  From  The  Tribune  of  April  31,  1860. 


614  MISCELLANIES. 

this  marriage  lias  —  solely  through  the  infidelity  of  the  adul 
terer —  been  dissolved,  so  far  only  as  it  imposes  duties  or 
obligations  on  the  wronged  and  innocent  party. 

III.  As  to  what  constitutes  Marriage,  —  what  Marriage  is, 
- 1  have  quoted  the  standard  lexicographers  of  our  language, 

who  unanimously  pronounce  it  a  union  and  consecration  of 
one  man  to  one  woman  for  life,  and  deny  the  name  to  all 
other  unions.  Your  quarrel  on  this  point  is  not  with  me, 
but  with  the  dictionaries,  as  well  as  with  the  Christian 
Church.  I  have  made  no  new  definitions ;  I  have  simply 
insisted  that  those  which  have  stood  unchallenged  hitherto 
shall  be  recognized  and  respected.  Not  by  me  primarily,  but 
by  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and,  following  him,  by  Noah  Webster 
and  Dr.  Worcester,  have  the  definitions  I  rest  on  been  set 
forth.  If  they  truly  define  the  term,  then  the  mutual  promise 
of  a  man  and  woman  to  live  together  until  one  of  them  shall 
have  proved  a  sot,  a  termagant,  a  ruffian,  or  a  beast,  is  not  a 
marriage.  If  you  insist  that  the  authorities  I  quote  mistake 
or  misstate  the  true  meaning  and  force  of  the  term,  why  do 
you  not  quote  lexicographers  who  favor  your  rendering  ?  Is 
it  not  clear  that  you  would  have  done  so,  had  there  been  any? 
And,  if  there  be  none,  how  can  you  complain  of  me  for  insist 
ing  that  the  word  Marriage  shall  be  held  to  mean  that,  and 
that  only,  which  our  standard  dictionaries  say  it  does  mean  ? 

IV.  And  this  disposes  of  your  talk  of  "  Horace  Greeley " 
saying  this  or  that,  in  opposition  to  your  views.     If  any  part 
of  what  I  have  urged  rests  on  the  naked  dictum  of  Horace 
Greeley,  it  is,  of  course,  of  little  moment;  but,  if  it  is  cor 
rectly  based  on  the  explicit  teachings  of  Jesus  Christ,  on  the 
unbroken  tradition  and  nearly  universal  affirmation  of  the 
Christian  Church,  on  the   lessons   of  Profane  History  (see 
Gibbon),  the  definitions  of  standard  lexicographers,  and  the 
concurring  judgment  of  a  vast  majority  of  the  wise  and  good, 
why,  then,  you  see,  the  case  is  bravely  altered,  and  the  fact 
that  I  reaffirm  what  all  of  these  have   constantly  asserted, 
does  not  necessarily  render  it  insignificant,  nor  subject  it  to 
ridicule. 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  615 

V.  You  dwell  on  the  fact  that  the  codes  of  Indiana  and  of 
some  other  States  permit  Divorce  for  other  cause  than  Adul 
tery,  as  though  this  proved  the  people  of  those  States  not 
married,  according  to  my  understanding  of  the  term.     But  I 
have  already  urged  the  fact  that,  in  those  States,  as  elsewhere, 
Christian  Marriage  is  unqualifiedly  a  union  for  life,  and  that 
most  of  those  who  marry  there  are  married  by  clergymen  in 
a  strict  and  open  accordance  with  the  Christian  law.     You 
know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  divorce,  followed  by,  another  mar 
riage,  rarely  fails  to  cover  with  odium  the  parties  involved 
in  it,  or  at  least  some  of  them.     You  may  not  know,  how 
ever,  as  I  do,  that,  in  repeated  instances,  persons  divorced 
under  the  State  laws  you  glory  in,  and  otherwise  married, 
have  been  excommunicated  therefor  by  Protestant  churches, 
clergymen  being  silenced  for  the  same  cause.     That  no  Cath 
olic  would  even  dream  of  contracting  such  second  marriage, 
no  matter  in  what  State  or  under  whatever  permission  of  the 
secular  authority,  you,  of  course,  fully  understand.      I  must 
protest,  then,  against  your  inference,  from  the  fact  that  the 
laws  of  certain  States  allow  Divorce  on  various  grounds,  that 
their   people  are  in  verity  generally  educated  and  married, 
and  afterward  live,  under  the  law  as   you  would  have  it. 
The  "higher  law"  is  their  safeguard. 

VI.  I  am  surprised  that  you  could  so  mistake  my  applica 
tion  of  the  judge's  remark,  that  he  punished  the  horse-thief, 
"  not  for  stealing  a  horse,  but  that  horses  may  not  be  stolen." 

My  idea  was,  and  is,  that  Marriage  is  rightfully  made  in 
dissoluble,  in  order  that  unfit  and  unreal  marriages  may  not 
be  contracted.  Say  that  a  legal  marriage  may  be  nullified 
merely  because  the  parties  find  or  fancy  themselves  unsuited 
to  each  other,  or  unhappy  in  their  union,  and  I  defy  you  to 
guard  against  so-called  marriages  whereof  the  impulse  is  mere 
appetite  or  worldly  convenience.  Such  unions,  in  fact,  are 
made,  and  will  be  made,  under  whatever  laws.  But  tens  of 
thousands  of  libertines,  lechers,  egotists,  who  would  take  a 
new  wife  at  least  every  Christmas,  if  they  could  legally  and 
reputably  rid  themselves  in  season  of  the  old  one,  are  appalled 


616  MISCELLANIES. 

and  deterred  by  the  stern  exaction  of  a  solemn  promise  to 
fulfil  all  the  obligations  of  husband  and  wife  "  till  death  do 
part."  We  cannot,  even  thus,  be  sure  that  all  marital  unions 
will  be  genuine  marriages ;  but  I  know  no  other  touchstone 
which  that  "  intangible  something  called  Society  "  can  apply 
half  so  searching  as  this. 

VII.  As  to  whatever  discrepancy  may  exist  between  the 
teachings  of  Moses  and  of  Jesus  respectively,  regarding  Divorce, 
they  present  no  difficulty  to  my  mind,     I  hold  the  law  of 
Moses  (not  the  Decalogue,  which  says  nothing  of  Divorce)  to 
have  been  local  and  temporary  in  its  application  ;  while  that 
of  Jesus  is  permanent  and  universal.     Hence  my  adhesion  to 
the  latter. 

VIII.  The  vital  difference  between  us  seems  to  me  to  hinge 
just  here :  You  regard  primarily  those  who  have  made  false 
marriages,  —  who  have  wedded  hastily,  giddily,  carnally,  vi 
ciously,  —  and  seek  to  relieve  them  from  the  inevitable  conse 
quence  of  their  errors.     I,  on  the  other  hand,  am  more  intent 
on  dissuading  and  deterring  others  from  following  their  bad 
example,  and  so  plunging,  like  Dives,  "into  this  torment." 
If  you  could  unmarry  every  discordant  pair  to-morrow,  and 
should  thereby  teach  the  yet  single  that  they  might  marry  in 
haste  and  get  divorced  at  leisure,  you  would  not  diminish, 
but  greatly  increase,  the  aggregate  of  human  woe ;  while,  if  I 
could  convince  the  giddy  millions  of  heedless  youth  that  Mar 
riage  is  the  most  important,  serious,  solemn  incident  of  their 
lives,  and  that  whoever  contracts  it  on  the  strength  of  pleas 
ing  features  and  a  six-weeks'  acquaintance  commits  a  crime 
which  will  assuredly  and  fearfully  punish  its  perpetrators,  I 
should  do  mankind  the  greatest  service,  even  though  I  should 
thereby  render  it  certain  that  no  divorce  be  evermore  granted. 
Believing  that  unhappy  unions  were  mainly,  in  their  outset, 
unworthy  ones,  and  that  none  who  marry  truly  and  nobly 
ever  need  seek  or  wish  for  Divorce,  I  must  continue  to  uphold 
the  law  given  through  the  words  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  which, 
I  am  happy  to  know,  is  substantially  identical  with  the  law 
of  New  York.     The  Puritan  pioneers  of  New  England,  it  is 


MARRIAGE  AND  DIVORCE.  617 

jocularly  said,  resolved  to  take  the  law  of  God  for  their  guid 
ance  until  they  should  find  time  to  make  a  better.  Lacking 
not  merely  the  leisure  to  frame  such  better  law,  but  the  faith 
to  anticipate  or  seek  it,  I  propose  to  hold  by  what  I  clearly, 
undoubtingly,  accord  with  Christendom  in  understanding  to 
be  the  Law  of  Marriage  as  enunciated  by  Him  who  "  spake 
as  never  man  spake."  In  the  hope  that  further  reflection  and 
observation  may  bring  you  to  a  realizing  sense  of  its  wisdom 
and  benignity, 

I  remain,  yours, 

HORACE  GREELEY. 

NEW  YORK,  April  25,  1860. 


NOTE. 

INDIANA  DIVORCE  LAW,  AS  IN  FORCE  MARCH  1,   1860. 
(Revised  Statutes  of  Indiana,  Vol.  II.  pp.  234  to  237.) 

§  6.  Divorces  may  be  decreed  by  the  Circuit  Courts  of  this 
State  on  petition  filed  by  any  person  who,  at  the  time  of  the  filing 
of  such  petition,  shall  have  been  a  bona  fide  resident  of  the  State 
one  year  previous  to  the  filing  of  the  same,  and  a  resident  of  the 
county  at  the  time  of  the  filing  of  such  petition,  which  bona  fide 
residence  shall  be  duly  proven  by  such  petitioner  to  the  satisfac 
tion  of  the  Court  trying  the  same. 

§  7.  Divorces  shall  be  decreed,  upon  the  application  of  the  in 
jured  party,  for  the  following  causes  :  — 

1.  Adultery,  except  as  hereinafter  provided. 

2.  Irnpotency. 

3.  Abandonment  for  one  year. 

4.  Cruel  treatment  of  either  party  by  the  other. 

5.  Habitual  drunkenness  of  either  party,  or  the  failure  of  the 
husband  to  make  reasonable  provision  for  his  family. 

6.  The  conviction,  subsequent  to  the  marriage,  in  any  country, 
of  either  party  of  an  infamous  crime. 

7.  Any  other  cause  for  which  the  Court  shall  deem  it  proper  that 
a  divorce  should  be  granted. 


618  MISCELLANIES. 

§  8.  Divorces  shall  not  be  granted  for  adultery  in  any  of  the 
following  cases  :  — 

1.  When  the  offence  has  been  committed  with  the  connivance  of 
the  party  seeking  the  divorce. 

2.  When  the  party  seeking  the  divorce  has  voluntarily  cohab 
ited  with  the  other,  with  knowledge  of  the  fact ;  or  has  failed  to 
file  his  or  her  petition  for  two  years  after  he  or  she  had  discovered 
the  same. 

3.  When  the  party  seeking  the  divorce  has  also  been  guilty  of 
adultery,  under  such  circumstances  as   would   have  entitled  the 
opposite  party,  if  innocent,  to  a  divorce. 

§  21.  The  Court,  in  decreeing  a  divorce,  shall  make  provision 
for  the  guardianship,  custody,  support,  and  education,  of  the  minor 
children  of  such  marriage. 

§  23.  The  divorce  of  one  party  shall  fully  dissolve  the  marriage 
contract  as  to  both. 

§  24.  A  divorce  decreed  in  any  other  State  by  a  court  having 
jurisdiction  thereof  shall  have  full  effect  in  this  State. 

§  27.  Wherever  a  petition  for  divorce  remains  undefended,  it 
shall  be  the  duty  of  the  prosecuting  attorney  to  appear  and  resist 
such  petition. 

(The  other  sections  refer  to  modes  of  procedure,  legitimacy, 
property  rights,  etc.  The  Indiana  law  does  not  permit  limited 
divorce.) 


ANALYTICAL  INDEX. 


Abolitionists,  organization  of,  284. 

Agriculture,  the  science  of,  296. 

AIKEN,  WILLIAM,  of  South  Carolina,  for 
Speaker,  351. 

Alps,  travels  among,  328,  329,  330. 

ANDREW,  JOHN  A.,  391. 

Anti-Nebraska,  314. 

Apples,  their  production,  303,  304,  305. 

ARGYLE,  the  DUKE  of,  273. 

Austria,  iron  interests  of,  274. 

Authorship,  experiences  of,  419. 

BALDWIN,  ROGER  S.,  of  Connecticut,  277. 

Ball-Playing,  its  good  and  its  evil,  117. 

Banking  System,  the  Free,  126. 

BANKS,  N.  P.,  candidate  for  Speaker, 
346, 347 ;  elected,  351 ;  his  character  as 
Speaker,  352. 

BARHER,  JAMES,  130. 

BARKER,  JAMES  W.,  320. 

BARNARD,  DANIEL  D.,  136. 

Barnburners'1  bolt  from  Democratic  Con 
vention,  213 ;  nominate  Van  Buren,  213. 

BARNES,  CAPT.  NATHAN,  51. 

BATES,  EDWARD,  247;  sketch  of,  389; 
suggested  for  President,  390. 

Bedford  (N.  //.),  46,  48,  50;  people,  51. 

Beggars  and  Borrowers,  192;  anecdote 
of,  198 ;  my  experience  with,  195. 

BELL,  JOHN,  for  President,  391. 

BENEDICT,  LEWIS,  124. 

BENNETT,  JAMES  GORDON,  139. 

Benninyton.  Battle  of,  31. 

BENTON,  COL.  THOMAS  H.,  his  Mileage 
record,  219. 

Big  Trees,  the,  of  Mariposas,  382. 

Billiards,  Backgammon,  Bowling,  118. 

BIRD,  WILLIAM,  anecdote  of,  271. 

BIRNEY,  JAMES  G.,  165,  166. 

BLAIR,  FRANCIS  P.,  Sr.,  358,  407. 

BOSSANGE,  M.  HECTOR,  338. 

BOTTS,  JOHN  MINOR,  in  Congress,  227. 

BRAGG,  GEN.,  411. 

BRECKINRIDGE,  JOHN  C.,  353,  354. 

BRISBANE,  ALBERT,  first  acquaintance 
with,  146;  writes  for  The  New-Yorker, 
146 ;  his  plan  of  Social  Reform,  146. 

BRONSON,  G.  C.,  vote  for  Governor,  315. 

BROOKS,  JAMES,  up  for  Congress,  216. 

BRUCE,  GEORGE,  type-founder,  92. 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN,  139. 

BUCHANAN,  JAMES,  proposed  for  Presi 
dent  in  1844, 160 ;  nominated,  353 :  elect 
ed,  354;  his  Kansas  policy,  356;  his 
character,  359;  his  death,  359. 

Buena  Visfa,  Battle  of,  209. 

Bunker  Hill,  Battle  of,  30. 


BUTLER,  A.  P.,  on  Compromise,  256. 

BUTLER,  GEN.  WILLIAM  O.,  214. 

CALHOUN,  JOHN  C.,  107;  character  of, 
251 ;  anecdote  of,  252 ;  death  of,  259. 

California,  visit  to,  360;  travels  in,  380; 
climate  of,  380;  trees,  380;  minerals, 
384;  soil,  385;  water  facilities,  386; 
agriculture,  386;  rainy  seasons,  387; 
timber,  387;  railroad  facilities,  387; 
a  prediction,  388. 

California,  Upper,  ceded  to  U.  States,  210. 

CAMBRELENG,  HON.  C.  C.,  281. 

CAMERON,  GEN.  SIMON,  391. 

CAMPBELL,  HON.  LEWIS  D.,  346. 

Camp  Floyd,  a  visit  to,  314. 

CANNING,  LORD,  his  character,  273. 

Cards,  118. 

CASS,  GEN.  LEWIS,  defeated  in  1844, 160; 
nominated  in  1848,  213;  defeated,  213. 

Cerro  Gordo,  Battle  of,  209. 

CHANDLER,  GEN.  ADONIRAM,  126. 

CHANNING,  REV.  WILLIAM  H.,  account 
of  Margaret  Fuller,  172. 

Chappaqua,  297. 

CHASE,  HON.  SALMON  P.,  against  Com 
promise,  258;  at  Chicago  in  1860,  391. 

Chepultepec,  Battle  of,  210. 

Chicago  twenty  years  ago,  248. 

CHURCH,  SANFORD  E.,  277. 

Churubusco,  Battle  of,  210. 

CLARK,  REV.  MATTHEW,  21,  26,  27. 

CLARK,  MYRON  H ,  for  Governor,  314. 

CLAY,  HENRY,  106;  defeated  at  Harris- 
burg  Convention,  130;  unanimously 
nominated  in  1844,  160;  his  Texas  let 
ter,  161;  defeated  for  President,  165; 
affection  for.  166;  how  hisirffection  was 
lost,  168 ;  defeated  at  Philadelphia  Con 
vention,  212 ;  anecdote  of,  219 ;  his  Mile 
age,  219 ;  bids  adieu  to  the  Senate,  225 ; 
his  fascination,  250;  submits  Com 
promise  plan,  255;  debate  with  Davis, 
256;  "The  Great  Commoner,"  408; 
death,  225. 

CLAY,  HENRY,  Jr.,  at  Buena  Vista,  209. 

CLAYTON,  HON.  JOHN  M.,  253. 

CLEMENS,  HON.  JEREMIAH,  399. 

Clichy,  imprisonment  in,  332,  343. 

CLINTON,  DE  WITT,  107. 

COBB,  HON.  HOWELL,  chosen  Speaker, 
255 ;  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  356 ; 
anecdote  of,  356. 

COGGESHALL,  JAMES,  139,  317. 

COLLAMER,  HON.  JACOB,  253;  presented 

for  the  Presidency,  391. 
Colorado,  travels  in,  365. 


620 


INDEX. 


Compromise,  the  Missouri,  106,  282;  of 
Ib50,  the,  255;  how  curried,  276,  277. 

"  Conflict,  The  American,"  421. 

CONGER,  A.  B.,  264. 
Congress  as  it  wus,  225. 
Congress,  the   XXIXth,  207;  ability  of, 
225 ;  the  XXXth,  prominent  members  \ 
of,    226  ;   the    XXXI Vth,  contest  for  ! 
Speukership,  345. 

Congress^  the  Confederate,  402. 
Constitution,  The  (newspaper),  112. 

COOK,  NOAH,  aids  The  Tribune,  139. 

COOPKK,  J.  FENIMORE,  his  suits,  261. 

Copper  regions  of  Luke  Superior,  242. 

CORWIN,  Hon.  THOMAS,  of  Ohio,  132. 

CRAWFOKD,  HON.  WILLIAM  H.,  106. 

CRITTENDEN,  HON.  JOHN  J.,  253;  pro 
poses  a  new  Compromise,  316. 

CROSWELL,  EDWIN,  129. 

DALLAS,  GEORGE  M.,  161,  207. 

DAVIS,  JEFFERSON,  declines  to  support 
Gen.  Taylor,  252 ;  assails  Compromise 
measures,  256  ;  suggested  for  Gover 
nor,  278;  his  career,  410  ;  his  arrest, 
412 ;  imprisonment,  413  -  415. 

DAYTON,  WILLIAM  L.,  for  Vice-Presi 
dent,  353 ;  suggested  for  President,  391. 

Debt,  imprisonment  for,  344. 

DEMETRIUS  (POLIORCETES),  68,  69. 

Democratic  Party,  conventions  at  Balti 
more,  160,  213 ;  bolt  of  the  Barnburn 
ers,  213 ;  division  of,  392. 

Denver,  visit  to,  365 ;  life  in,  366. 

Deposits,  the  removal  of,  110. 

Desert,  the  Western,  anecdote  of,  376. 

Dial,  The,  quarterly  magazine,  109;  its 
career,  170;  failure,  170. 

DICKENS,  CHARLES,  as  an  actor,  204,  205. 

DICKEY,  DAVID  WOODBURN,  42. 

Dix,  JOHN  A.,  213. 

DONELSON,  AND  HEW  J.,  290. 

DOUGLAS,  STEPHEN  A.,  anecdote  of,  251 ; 
his  historv,  291;  introduces  the  Ne 
braska  Bill,  291;  its  history,  292;  de 
feated  at  Cincinnati,  353;  opposes  Le- 
compton,  356 ;  difference  with  Mr.  Bu 
chanan,  356 ;  his  canvass  for  the  Sen 
ate,  357  ;  his  success,  358;  his  can 
vass  with  Lincoln,  358;  recollections 
of,  358;  his  power  as  a  debater,  359; 
his  death,  359;  defeat  at  Charleston, 
392;  nominated  at  Baltimore,  392. 

DOWNS,  HON.  S.  U.,  256. 

Drainage,  necessity  of,  307. 

Drama,  the,  200 ;*  "The  Fall  of  Bona 
parte,"  200 ;  Bowery  Theatre,  the  old, 
202;  Richmond  Hill,  theatre  of,  203; 
Hamblin,  Mrs.,  Naomi  Vincent,  at  the 
old  Bowery,  204. 

Dred  Scott  decision,  the,  355. 

EASTMAN,  E.  G.  and  C.  G.,  254. 

KMBKKK,  HON.  ELIJAH,  on  Mileage,  223. 

EMERSON,  KAU-II  WALDO,  editor  of  The 
Dial,  169;  on  Margaret  Fuller,  171. 


Employes  of  Congress,  gratuities  to,  229. 

"  Europe,  Glances  at,"  420. 

EVARTS,  WILLIAM  M.,  391. 

EVERETT,  EDWARD,  281,  391. 

Evergreens,  uses  of,  301. 

EWING,  THOMAS,  253. 

Fairkaven,  Vt.,  50;  Slate  and  Marble,  60. 

Fair,  the  World's,  268. 

Farm,  My,  295. 

Farming,  will  it  pay?  310. 

FAULKNER,  HON  CHARLES  J.,  350. 

Fever  and  Ague,  an  attack  of,  117;  how 
to  cure,  117. 

FICKLIN,  0.  B.,  230,  232. 

FIELD,  MAUNSEL  B  ,  kindness  of,  334. 

FILLMORE,  MILLARD,  nominated  for 
Vice-President,  212;  accession  to  the 
Presidency,  258;  Know-Nothing  can 
didate  for,  290;  defeated,  278. 

Fire-Eaters,  the,  of  South  Carolina,  278. 

Fishing,  first  experience  in,  114;  devo 
tion  to,  115;  fifty  years  ago,  115. 

FITZPATRICK,  HON.*  BENJAMIN,  392. 

FOOTE,  HON.  HENRY  S.,  256,  278. 

FORWARD,  HON.  WALTER,  107. 

Forest  Culture,  value  of,  304. 

FOURIER,  CHARLES,  his  Socialism,  147. 

Fox  Family,  The,  235. 

FRKEMAN,  MKS.  (Clairvoyant),  236. 

FRELINGHUYSEN,  THEODORE,  160. 

FREMONT,  COL.  JOHN  C.,  353. 

FULLER,  HON.  HENRY  M.,  346. 

FULLER,  SARAH  MARGARET,  edits  The 
Dial,  170;  her  birth  and  education, 
170;  parentage,  171;  teaches  school, 
173;  conversational  powers,  173;  her 
writings,  174,  175  ;  in  Mr.  Greeley's 
family,  177 ;  her  work  for  The  Tribune, 
177 ;  wonderful  range  of  her  abilities, 
179;  goes  to  Boston,  182;  visits  Eu 
rope,  182;  marriage,  183;  Marchioness 
d'Ossoli,  183;  efforts  for  Italian  free 
dom,  184;  heroism,  187;  embarks  for 
home,  189 ;  forebodings,  189 ;  death,  190. 

Future,  The  (newspaper),  151. 

GALES  AND  SEA  TON,  anecdote  of,  228. 

GARRISON,  WILLIAM  LLOYD,  284.  , 

GATES,  SETH  M.,  213. 

Gazette,  The  Erie,  80,  81. 

GIDDINGS.  HON.  JOSHUA  R.,  233. 

GODWIN,  PARKE,  Socialism,  152. 

GOGGIN,  HON.  W.  L.,  229. 

GRAHAM,  HON.  WILLIAM  A.,  279. 

GRAHAM,  SYLVESTER,  103. 

"  GRAHAM  System,"  103. 

GREELEYS,  the,  migrate  to  America,  34. 

GREELEY,  ZACCHEUS  (the  elder),  34,  35; 
JOHN,  35;  GILBERT,  35. 

GREELEY,  ARTHUR  YOUNG,  his  affection 
for  Margaret  Fuller,  178;  Margaret 
Fuller's  letter  to,  188;  his  sorrow  over 
her  death,  188;  his  birth,  426;  his 
character,  426 ;  his  death,  428. 

GREELEY,  HORACE,  born,  37 ;  set  to  work, 


INDEX. 


621 


88;  goes  to  school,  41;  in  Bedford,  46; 
offered  an  education,  47 ;  clearing  wood 
land,  57 ;  fanning  as  a  boy,  58,  59 ;  ap 
prenticed  to  printing,  61;  bids  adieu 
to  his  family,  62;  life  in  Poultney,  63; 
books,  64;  Visits  his  parents.  64;  life 
on  a  line-boat,  64;  religious  faith,  68- 
74;  goes  West,  75;  sets  his  face  to 
ward  New  York,  82;  reaches  the 
city.  84 ;  finds  work  there,  85 ;  attends 
the  Tariff  Convention,  86 ;  visits  New 
Hampshire,  89;  goes  into  business,  91; 
starts  The  New-Yorker,  94;  bad  luck 
and  hard  times,  95-97;  edits  The  Jef- 
fersonian  at  Albany,  98,  99;  smokes 
just  once,  99 ;  joins  a  temperance  socie 
ty,  101;  prints  The  Constitution,  112; 
b'elief  in  "Graham  System,"  104;  ex 
perience  as  a  Vegetarian,  105 ;  edit 
ing  in  New  York  and  Albany,  125; 
reports  in  the  Assembly,  125;  edits 
The  Log-Cabin,  133;  establishes  The 
Tribune,  136;  devotion  to  Henry  Clay, 
166;  illness,  167;  gains  the  ill-will  of 
The  National  Intelligencer,  228;  serves 
on  Committee  on  Public  Lands,  230; 
propose?  to  give  the  United  States  the 
name  of  Columbia,  232 ;  interview  with 
a  celebrated  clairvoyant,  236;  theory 
of  Spiritualism,  238, 239 ;  visfcs  to  Lake 
Superior,  242,  246 ;  visit  to  Lake  Huron, 
243 ;  pedestrian  journeyin  the  mining 
country,  244  ;  resultyiff  mining  ex 
perience,  246  ;  attendance  on  River 
and  Harbor  Convention,  247 ;  journey 
through  the  "wet  prairies,"  247;  ac 
quaintance  with  Webster,  Clay,  and, 
Calhoun,  251  ;  speaks  in  Vermont, 
253;  anecdote  of  the  Brothers  East 
man,  254;  reasons  for  opp^mg  Gen. 
Taylor,  211;  his  supporVCf  Clay,  211; 
theatrical  experience  in  Europe,  204; 
at  the  Duke  of  Devonshire's  theatre, 
204;  at  Fanny  Mumble's  de"bilt,  205: 
theatrical  experience  in  France,  _205 ; 
theatrical  opinions  of,  204;  expqji?ence 
with  borrowers  and  beggars,  192; 
studies  a  part  in  a  tragedy,  200 ;  the 
atrical  experience  at  Wells,  Vt.,  201; 
first  visit  to  the  Theatre,  200;  firsfcwfsit 
to  the  New  York  Theatre,  202;  resi 
dence  in  New  York,  176 ;  removes  to  the 
countrv,  176 ;  acquaintance  with  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  177;  first  libel  suit,  261; 
his  Fenimore  Cooper  libel  suit,  263, 
264;  visits  the  World's  Fair,  270; 
member  of  a  jury,  271;  nominated 
for  Congress,  216 ;  elected  to  Congress, 
217;  his  vote,  217;  introduces  Land 
Reform  Bill,  217;  prints  Mileage  Ex 
pose,  219;  excitement  about  it,  220; 
serves  with  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
Andrew  Johnson,  224;  supports  Tay 
lor,  225 ;  meets  the  Duke  of  Welling 


ton,  273 ;  impressions  of  the  Dnke,  274 ; 
services  at  the  Great  Exposition,  274; 
travels  on  the  Continent,  275;  recollec 
tions  of  the  Missouri  struggle,  282;  re 
lations  to  the  Missouri  movement, 285 ; 
becomes  an  Abolitionist,  289;  de 
scription  of  his  farm,  295-301 ;  farming 
experience,  309  ;  as  a  woodchopper, 
303 ;  home,  306 ;  brook,  306 ;  crops,  306 ; 
swamp,  307;  barn,  308;  profits  of  farm 
ing,  310 ;  first  acquaintance  with  Gov 
ernor  Seward,  311;  letter  to  Seward, 
315;  last  meeting  with  Seward,  321; 
revisits  Europe,  323;  at  the  French  Ex 
position,  323 ;  travels  in  Italy,  327 ;  in 
Switzerland,  328,  329;  at  home  again, 
330;  in  a  French  ipfcon,  322;  life  in 
Clichy,  335  -  340 ;  relea»*from  prison, 
343;  visits  Washington,  the  "Banks 
Congress,"  345;  criticises  Hon.  A. 
Rust,  348;  desires  Senator  Douglas's 
reelection,  357;  travels  across  the 
Plains,  360;  in  Kansas,  361;  visits 
Denver,  365 ;  in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
368;  at  Salt  Lake,  371;  at  Camp 
Floyd,  374;  relations  to  Go-wtfhor 
Seward,  390;  his  view  of  Seti^fsion, 
397;  at  Lincoln's  inauguration,  404; 
last  interview  with  Mr.  Lincoln,  407; 
visits  Richmond,  414;  bails  Jefferson 
Davis,  415;  as  an  author,  417;  as  a 
writer  of  verses,  417;  writes  "  Hifffs 
toward  Reforms,"  418;  writes  "Glan 
ces  at  Europe,"  420;  writes  "  Overland 
Journey  to  California,"  421;  writes 
"  The  American  Conflict,"  421 ;  how 
he  composed  it,  422 ;  its  success,  424. 

GKEELEY,  MRS.  MAKY  Y.  C.,  acquaint 
ance  with  Margaret  Fuller,  176;  directs 
the  choice  of  a  farm,  296 ;  an  anecdote 
of,  335. 

GREELEY,  ZACCHEUS  (the  younger)  mar 
ries,  35;  buys  a  farm'  in  Amherst, 
N.  H.,  37;  hoeing  corn,  38;  removes 
to  Bedford,  46;  returns  to  Amherst, 
48;  becomes  bankrupt,  49;  goes  to 
Hampton,  N.  Y.,50;  migrates  to  West- 
haven,  Vt.,  60;  hospitality,  52;  clear 
ing  land,  56;  removes  to  Flea  Knoll, 
59;  returns  to  the  Minot  estate,  ib.j 
looks  westward  for  a  new  home,  62; 
his  new  home  in  the  Wilderness,  78; 
slow  clearing,  79 ;  death  of,  426. 

GREKLEY,  RAPHAEL  UHLAXD,  birth  of, 
428 ;  his  death,  429. 

GREGORY,  DUDLEY  S.,  136. 

GRIXXELL.  JOSEPH,  226. 

HALE,  JOHN  P.,  258,  280. 

HALL,  WILLIS,  125,  126;  supports  Van 
Buren,  126. 

HAMLIN,  HAXXIRAL,  280. 

Harbinger,  The,  periodical,  151. 

"  Hnrd  Cider,"  origin  of,  132. 

HARDIN,  COL.  JOHN  J.,  death  of,  209. 


622 


INDEX. 


HARRISON,  WIT/MAM  HENRY,  proposed 
for  President,  112;  nominated,  130;  de 
nounced  as  a  dotard,  132;  chosen  1'n-s- 
ident,  135;  death,  135;  character,  135. 

HASH  ELL,  HON.  WILLIAM  T.,  227. 

HEMANS,  MRS.,  73. 

HICKMAN,  HON.  JOHN,  351. 

"  Hints  toward  Reforms,"  418. 

Holiday  Excursion,  a,  120. 

HOLLAND,  COL.  STEPHEN,  32. 

HOOD,  JOSEPH  E.,  411. 

HOUSTON,  GEN.  SAMUEL,  285. 

HUDSON,  HON.  CHARLES,  220. 

HULBEKT,  KlCHARD,  126. 

HUNT,  HOLM  AN,  324. 

HUNT,  WASHINGTON,  277. 

Imprisonment,  account  of,  332. 

INGE,  S.  W.,  assails  Hon.  0.  B.  Ficklin, 
233. 

Intelligencer,  The  National,  228. 

Italy,  travels  in,  327. 

JACKSON,  ANDREW,  President,  107;  re 
tires,  122;  Specie  Circular  of,  122. 

JEFFERSON,  THOMAS,  death  of,  66:  on  j 
Slavery,  282;  his  acquisition  of  Louisi-  ; 
ana,  283 ;  admission  of  Missouri,  284.  i 

Jeffersonian,  The,  editorial  experiences 
with,  125,  126. 

JERROLD,  DOUGLAS,  as  an  actor,  204. 

JOHNSON,  ANDREW,  in  XXXth  Con 
gress,  226;  as  President,  414. 

JOHNSON,  HERSCHEL  V.,  392. 

JOHNSON,  HON.  REVERDY,  253. 

JOHNSON,  HON.  ROBERT  W.,  232. 

JOHNSTON,  GEN.  ALBERT  SYDNEY,  375. 

JOHNSTON,  GEN.  JOSEPH  E.,  411. 

Journal,  The  Albany  Evening,  125. 

Kansas,  settlement  "of,  355 ;  Border  Ruf 
fianism  in,  355;  travels  in,  361. 

KENT,  EDWARD,  Governor  of  Maine,  134. 

KELLOGG,  DAY  0.,  126. 

KING,  PRESTON,  126. 

KING,  WILLIAM  R.,  250,  280. 

Know-Nothing  Party,  290,  291. 

Lake  Superior  region,  resources  of,  245 ; 
mining  experience  in,  245. 

Land  Bill,  introduced  by  the  author,  217. 

LANE,  GEN.  JOSEPH,  392. 

Laramie,  Fort,  369. 

LAWRENCE,  CORNELIUS  W.,  111. 

LAWRENCE,  JAMES  R.,  126. 

LE  CHESNE.M.,  338. 

Lecompton  Constitution,  the,  355. 

Lecompton  Bill,  the,  356 ;  defeat  of,  357. 

Legislature  of  1838,  its  merits,  126. 

LEMON,  MARK,  acting  of,  204. 

Libel  Suits,  general  character  of,  265. 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM,  in  XXXth  Con 
gress,  226;  candidate  for  United  States  | 
Senate,  358;  nominated  for  President,  l 
391 ;  chosen,  393 :  calls  out  troops,  401 ;  ! 
inauguration,  404;  anecdote  of,  405;  , 
his  tameness,  405;  his  firmness,  406;  i 
his  course,  407 ;  injustice  of  Congress  i 


to,  408;  his  character,  408;  contrasted 
with  Jefferson  Davis,  411. 

l.i. M>.  JENNY,  anecdote  of,  237. 

Literature  as  a  Vocation,  an  Essay,  433. 

Liquor  Traffic,  growth  of,  102. 

LIVINGSTON,  UNCLE  HARRY,  128. 

"Loy- Cabin"  doings,  129. 

Loy- Cabin,  The,  edited  by  the  author,  its 
character,  133;  great  success  of,  134. 

Londonderry  (Ireland),  siege  of,  18. 

Londonderry  (N.  H.),  settled,  20;  growth 
of,  21;  religion,  23;  manners  and  cus 
toms,  24,  27,  28;  flax  culture,  25;  area, 
28;  in  the  Revolutionary  war,  29-33. 

LOVEJOY,  ELIJAH  P.,  death  of,  286. 

LUNDY,  BENJAMIN,  284. 

MALLARY,  HON.  ROLLIN  C.,  66,  67. 

MANN,  ABIJAH,  126. 

MARCY,  HON.  WILLIAM  L.,  112,  129. 

MARSH,  HON.  GEORGE  P.,  227. 

MARSHALL,  CHARLES  H.,  320. 

MARSHALL,  HUMPHREY.  346. 

MASON,  HON.  JAMES  M.j  256. 

MASON,  HON.  JOHN  Y.,  in  Paris,  334. 

Massachusetts,  in  XXXth  Congress,  226. 

MC-ELRATH,  THOMAS,  140. 

MCGREGOR,  REV.  JAMES,  20. 

McKAY,  HON.  J.  J.,  in  XXXth  Con 
gress,  226;  anecdote  of,  221. 

McLEANq  HON.  JOHN,  354,  391. 

MEREDITH,  HON.  WILLIAM  M.,  253. 

METCALF,  HON.  THOMAS,  130. 

Mexico,  City  of,  taken  by  Gen.  Scott,  210. 

Mexico,  New,  ceded  to  United  States, 
210;  Texas  sells  her  claim  on.  210. 

Michigan,  Territory  of,  242. 

Mileage  of  Congress,  215;  amended,  223. 

MILLAIS,  J.  E.,  his  pictures,  324. 

Milwaukee,  twenty  years  ago,  248. 

MINOT,  CHRISTOPHER,  54;  dies,  58. 

Mississippi,  election  in,  278. 

MITCH  EL,  J.  C.,  281. 

MOREHEAD,  Ex-Gov.,  212. 

MORGAN,  WILLIAM,  the  anti-Mason,  264. 

MORRISONS,  the,  anecdote  of,  26. 

Native  American  Party,  its  origin,  165. 

Navy,  flogging  in  the,  228. 

Nebraska  Bill,  the,  introduced  into  Con 
gress,  291;  passage  of,  292;  its  effect 
upon  Slavery,  294. 

Nevada,  visit  to,  378;  its  minerals,  378. 

New  England,  charcoal-burning  in,  39; 
picking  stones,  39;  picking  hops,  40; 
''barring  out"  teachers,  43;  spelling- 
matches,  44;  school-books,  44;  social 
enjovments,  51. 

New  fork  (State),  her  electoral  vote,  188. 

New  York  City,  as  she  was  in  1831,54; 
hard  winters  of  ante-railroad  days,  87; 
cholera  of  1832,  88. 

New-Yorker,  The,  first  issued,  94;  bad 
luck  with,  94;  discontinued,  97,  133. 

Northern  Spectator,  The,  61;  for  Adams, 
66 ;  stopped,  75. 


INDEX. 


623 


OGDEN,  HON.  DAVID  B.,  125. 

"  OLD  ZACK,"  207. 

OKR,  HON.  JAMKS  L.,  350. 

OSSOLI,  MAKQUIS  OF,  death  of,  190. 

OWEN,  ROBERT,  on  Social  Reform,  146. 

Pacific  Railroad,  the,  route  of,  371. 

Palace,,  the  Crystal,  description  of,  269. 

Palo  Alto,  Battle  of,  209. 

Panic  of  1837,  the,  123. 

Paris,  life  in,  323    325. 

PATTERSON,  HON.  GEORGE  W.,  126. 

Pedestrianism,  suggestions  as  to,  76. 

PKNOLETON,  JOHN  S.,  227. 

PENNINGTON,  HON.  A.  0.  M.,  346. 

Pennsylvania,  election  in  1844,  207,  208. 

PIATT,  COLONEL,  DON,  334. 

PIERCE,  FRANKLIN,  in  XXI Vth Congress, 
225 ;  nominated  for  President,  279 ;  his 
character,  279;  not  renominated,  353. 

Placerville,  California,  visit  to,  379. 

Plains,  life  on  the,  372. 

Play-Days,  119. 

POE,  EDGAR  A.,  anecdote  of,  196. 

Poets  and  Poetry,  an  Essay,  460. 

PALFREY,  HOH.  JOHN  G.,*226. 

POLK,  J.  K.,  nominated  for  President,  160 ; 
career,  161;  Tariff  letter,  163;  elected 
President,  166;  inaugurated,  208. 

Potato,  introduced  into  New  England,  25. 

Poultney,  Vt.,  61;  a  slave-hunt,  65;  cele 
bration  of  July  4th,  1826,  65 ;  present 
condition,  66;'  vote  for  President  in 
1828,  67 ;  character  of  her  inhabitants, 
75;  temperance  society  organized,  101. 

Pre-Raphaelite  School,  the,  324. 

PRESTON,  HON.  WILLIAM  BALLARD,  283. 

Proviso,  the  Wilmot.  252. 

RANDOLPH.  HON.  JOHN,  281. 

flappings,  spiritual.  234,  238. 

RAYMOND,  HENRY  J.,  138;  controversy 
with  the  author  on  Socialism,  151 ;  nom 
inated  for  Lieutenant-Governor,  314. 

REED,  COL.  GEORGE,  28-32. 

Registry  Law,  the,  313. 

Republican  Convention,  the  first,  in  our 
State,  314. 

Republican  Party,  rise  of  the,  294;  Na 
tional  Convention  of,  390. 

Resaca  de  la  Palma,  Battle  of,  209. 

Revolution,  the  American,  29  -  33,  51. 

RICHARDSON,  HON.  WILLIAM  A.,  346. 

"  Richmond,  Forward  to,"  403. 

RIPLEY,  GEORGE,  168. 

RITNER,  JOSEPH,  130. 

ROCKWELL,  HON  JULIUS,  226. 

Rocky  Mountains,  the,  368,  369. 

ROGEKS,  MAJ.  ROBERT,  32. 

ROOT,  GEN.  ERASTUS,  129. 

ROOT,  HON.  JOSEPH  M.,  226. 

ROTHSCHILD,  JAMKS,  anecdote  of,  342. 

RUGGLES,  LIEUT.-COL  D.  C.,  375. 

RUGGLES,  HON.  SAMUEL  B.,  125. 

RUST,  HON.  ALBERT,  his  proposition,  347 ; 
assails  the  author,  348. 


with, 


RUSH,  HON.  RICHARD,  107. 
Salt  Lake  City,  visit  to,  371,  373. 
S'in  Francisco,  its  growth,  388. 
SANTA  ANNA,  defeat  of,  209. 
SAWYER,  HON.  WILLIAM,  221. 
SAWYER,  REV.  THOMAS  J.,  70. 
SCAMMON,   JOHN    Y.,   excursion 

247. 
SCHENCK,  HON.  ROBERT  C.,  221. 

SCHOOLCRAFT,  HoN.  JoHN,  317. 

SCHULTZE,  Gov.  JOHN  A.,  130. 

Scotch-Irish,  the,  17,  19;  in  America,  21- 
28 ;  in  the  Revolution,  29. 

SCOTT,  GKN.  WINFIELD,  supported  for 
President  at  Harrisburg,  131;  lands  at 
Vera  Cruz,  209 ;  marches  into  Mexico, 
209;  defeats  Santa  Anna,  209;  takes 
Chepultepec,  210;  captures  Mexico, 
210;  defeated  for  nomination  in  1848, 
212;  nominated  for  President,  279;  his 
relations  to  Secession,  403. 

Sea-Sickness,  experience  of,  331. 

Secession  Party,  how  composed,  395. 

Secession,  progress  of,  401. 

"  SKWARD,  WEED,  AND  GREELEY,"  al 
leged  political  firm  of,  311;  differ 
ences,  312;  dissolution,  315. 

SEWARD,  HON.  WILLIAM  H.,  opposes  Van 
Buren,  129 ;  favors  Harrison,  131 ;  candi 
date  for  Governor,  112;  opposes  Com 
promise,  258  ;  defends  the  author  in 
libel  suit,  264:  sketch  of,  311;  remains 
aloof  from  the  Republican  Party,  314; 
recent  relations  with,  321;  visits  Eu 
rope  and  Asia,  321;  his  Presidential 
aspirations,  322;  intellectual  stature, 
322;  candidate  for  President,  390. 

SEYMOUR,  HORATIO,  277,  315. 

SHEA,  GEORGE,  414. 

Sheep,  their  agricultural  value,  302. 

SHEPARD,  DR.  HORATIO  D.,  91-93. 

SIBLEY,  DERICK,  126. 

Sierra  Nevada,  the,  378;  timber,  380. 

"  Silver    Grays,"    the,    canvass   in   N( 
York,  277 ;  in  Connecticut,  277. 

SlaveryQuestion,  227 ;  struggle  upon,  254. 

Slave  Power,  the,  rise  of,  287. 

SMITH,  AZARIAH,  126. 

SMITH,  HON.  SAMUEL  A.,  resolve  of,  351. 

SNOW,  GEOKGE  M.,  his  death,  139. 

Socialism,  144;  I  am  attracted  by,  145; 
the  evils  it  sought  to  cure,  145 ;  my  creed 
with  reference  to,  147 ;  efforts  in  behalf 
of,  152;  Brook-Farm,  its  career.  152; 
"  Sylvania  Association,"  152;  Phalanx, 
the  "North  American,"  153,  154;  As 
sociation,  practical  difficulties  of,  154; 
Communism,  155;  "  Ebenezer,"  the 
Society  of,  155  ;  "  Zoar  communitv," 
155,  156;  Cooperation,  its  philosophy, 
157 ;  Perfectionists,  community  of,  158 ; 
Shakers,  community  of,  158;  Comte, 
his  philosophv.  158;" Association,  prob 
able  future  of,  158. 


New 


624 


INDEX. 


Societies,  Temperance,  in  America,  98. 

{Society,  fifty  years  ago,  100. 

Southtrn  States,  the  Secession  of,  398,  399. 

Specie  Payment  suspended  in  1837,  127. 

SPENCER,  HON.  AMBROSE,  160. 

SPENCER,  HON.  JOHN  C.,  129. 

Spirituous  Liquors,  rejected,  101. 

Stage,  the  French,  205 ;  its  naturalness, 
205;  American,  its  degradation,  206. 

STANIJKRKY,  HKXKY,  anecdote  of,  292. 

STAKK,  GKN.  JOHN,  29-31. 

State  Riyhti  in  Mississippi,  278. 

STEPHENS,  HON.  ALEXANDER  H.,  in 
XXXth  Congress,  226 ;  his  ability,  227. 

STERKKTT,  JOSEPH  M.,  80. 

STILWELL,  SILAS  M.,  112. 

STORY,  FRANCIS  V.,  88,  91,  93,  94. 

ST.  SIMON,  his  social  system,  146. 

SYLVESTER.  MR.  S.  J.,  91,  93. 

TALLMADGE,  HON.  N.  P.,  127,  128. 

Tariff of  1842,  its  repeal,  207. 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD,  326. 

TAYLOR.  GENERAL  ZACHARY,  crosses 
the  Rio  Grande,  208;  defeats  Santa 
Anna,  209;  his  character,  211;  claims 
on  the  Whig  party,  211;  nominated  for 
President,  212;  elected,  213;  charac 
ter,  214;  administration  of,  214;  death, 
214;  a  wise  and  good  ruler,  215;  his 
inauguration,  233 ;  anecdote  of,  252. 

TENNYSON,  ALFRED,  on  Restoration,  72. 

Texas,  Annexation  of,  161,  208. 

THOMPSON,  HON  RICHARD  W.,  232. 

THOMPSON,  HON.  SMITH,  107. 

THORNTON,  DR.  MATTHEW.  32,  33. 

TOOMBS,  HON.  ROBERT,  226. 

TOUCEY,  HON.  ISAAC,  277. 

Transcendentalists,  the  sect  of,  169. 

Travel,  foreign,  views  of,  325,  326. 

Tree-Planting,  301. 

Tribune,  The  New  York,  first  issued, 
136;  reasons  for  its  foundatirfh,  13,6; 
friends  who  aided  it,  136;  policvXnd 
purpose,  137;  journalism  in  Ne'vy'York, 
its  vicissitudes,  138;  difficulties  in  pub 
lishing,  139;  as  a  penny  paper,  141  ; 
increase  in  size  and  price,  142;  support 
of  Clay,  167 ;  circulation  of,  167 ;  sued 
for  libel  by  J.  Fenimore  Cooper,  261. 

TWIGGS,  GENERAL  DAVID  E.,  400. 

TYLER,  HON.  JOHN,  at  the  Harrisburg 
Convention,  130;  nominated  for  Vice- 
President,  131;  supports  Clay,  131; 
his  political  record,  131;  succeeds  to 
the  Presidency.  159;  quarrels  with  the 
Whigs,  159;  signs  the  Annexation  Bill, 
208. 

ULLMANN,  DANIEL,  315. 

Union,  The  Washington,  228. 

Utah  Expedition,  the,  374. 

Utah,  travels  in,  374. 

VAN  BUREN,  HON.  MARTIN,  107;  char 
acter,  113;  relation  to  Jackson,  113;  is 
inaugurated  President,  121 ;  calls  Con 


gress  together,  123;  New  York  against 
his  administration,  129;  defeated  at 
Baltimore,  160;  nominated  by  the 
Barnburners,  213. 

VANCE,  GENERAL  JOSEPH,  130. 

VAN  NKSS,  Gov    COKM-IUTS  PETER,  66. 

VATTEMARE,  M.  (Alexandre),  338. 

Vegetarianism,  its  advantages,  105. 

VENABLE,  HON.  A.  W.,  226. 

VERPLANCK,  GULIAN  C.,  Ill,  125. 

VINTON,  HON.  SAMUEL  F.,  226. 

Virginia,  Secession  of,  400. 

WALKERJ  HON.  ROBERT  J.,  207. 

War  agmnst  the  Rebellion,  the,  400. 

War  fur  the  Rebellion,  progress  of,  401. 

WASIIBURNE,  HON.  ELIHIT  B.,  343. 

WEBSTER,  DANIEL,  lingers  in  Tyler's 
Cabinet,  159;  defeated  for  nomination, 
212;  character,  250;  7th  of  March 
speech,  256;  death,  259,  279. 

WEED,  THURLOW,  introduction  to,  124; 
opposes  Van  Buren,  129;  favors  Har 
rison's  nomination,  131 ;  libel-suit  with 
Fenimore  Cooper,  262;  literary  tastes, 
262;  libel  experiences,  265;  his  char 
acter,  313;  holds  aloof  from  the  Re 
publican  Partv,  314;  elected  State 
Printer,  317;  favors  Crittenden  Com 
promise,  396. 

WELLINGTON,  the  Duke  of,  273,  274. 

WENTWORTH,  HON.  JOHN,  223. 

Westhaven,  Vt,  50-56. 

WESTMORELAND,  LORD,  anecdote  of,  273. 

Wldg  Party,  the,  its  first  canvass,  111 ;  de 
feat  in  1836,  113;  carries  New  York  in 
1837,  124;  again  in  1839,  127;  first 
National  Convention  of,  130;  the  apos 
tates  from,  167 ;  paralyzed  by  Tylerism, 
160;  National  Convention,  160;  Na 
tional  Convention  at  Philadelphia,  212 ; 
nominates  Taylor  and  Fillmore,  212; 
Taylor's  election  a  virtual  defeat,  215; 
last  success  in  New  York  City,  217; 
dissolution  of,  276;  State  Convention 
of,  277;  death  of,  280. 

WHITE.  DR.  FORTUNE  C.,  126. 

WHITE,  JUDGE  JAMES  W.,  318. 

WILLIS,  N.  P.,  anecdote  of,  426. 

WINCHESTER,  MR.  JONAS,  94. 

WINN,  CYRUS,  teacher,  42. 

WINTHROP,  HON.  ROBERT  C.,  208. 

Wisconsin,  twenty  years  ago,  248. 

WOODBURN,  JOHH,  20;  death  of,  426. 

WOODBURN,  MARY,  married  to  Zaccheus 
Greeley,  35;  teaching  her  children,  41; 
in  Vermont,  57;  in  Pennsylvania,  78; 
broken  down  and  worn  out,  78. 

WOODBURY,  HON.  LEVI,  160. 

Woods,  description  of,  298. 

WRIGHT,  SILAS,  129 ;  nominated  for  Vice- 
President,  161;  his  popularity,  161; 
tariff  speech,  164:  his  subtlety,  164. 

Yosemite  Valley,  the,  381 ;  visited,  382. 

YOUNG,  COL.  SAMUEL,  of  Saratoga,  128. 


v/D 


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14  DAY  USE 

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LOAN  DEPT. 

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200 

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General  Library     _ 
University  of  California 
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